'V 


4. 


•  Look  you  1  look  at  those  two  little  feet :  they  are  my  asseseors." 


p.  48. 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI; 


OR. 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 

AN  HISTORICAL  NO  VEL. 

BY 

L.  Mt^HLBACH,    pse^ 

ACTHOB    OF    "JOSEPH    n.    ANT)    HIS    COUET,"     "rKEDERICK    THE    GREAT    AND    HIS    COtTBT," 
"the  EKFBESS  JOSEPHINE,"    "ANDREAS  HOFER,"   ETC.,   ETC. 


TBANSLATHi)' 1'BUK  THK  GKRKAN,  BY 

MES.  CHAPMAN  COLEMAN  AND  HER  DAUGHTERS. 


iith    inu$ttiat»on$. 


COMPLETE      IN      ONE      VOLUME. 


NEW  YORK: 

D.  APPLETOK  AND  COMPANY, 

1,  3,  AND  5  BOND  STREET. 

18  8  8. 


^/?^^^»W^ 


Ektebed,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1867,  by 
,  ,  .  D.,  APPLETON.&.CO.,. 

Ill  tho  Clect'B  Offiae  of  the  Diat»i($  Ci)urt  «,t  thf  TJrti^^  Sljites  for  the  Southern  DkUlct  ci 

•   ••'''-*■*•*    •  •-    •     •■  • 
Sew  York. 


Cc^        0 


OONTET^TS. 


BOOK    I. 

PAOB 

Chap.  I.— The  Alchemist's  Incantation,  5 
II.— The  Old  Courtier,        .          .  8 
in.— The  Morning  Hours  of  a  King,  14 
IV.— The  Pardoned  Courtier,          .  20 
v.— How  the  Princess  ULica  be- 
came Queen  of  Sweden,      .  26 
Vt.— The  Tempter,          .          .  31 
"TT.-The  First  Interview,   .          .  38 
VIII. — Signora  Barbarina,             .  43 
IX.— The  King  and  Barbarina,       .  46 
X.— Eckhof,         ...  62 
XI.— A  Life  Question,          .          .  57 
XII.— Superstition  and  Piety,     .  61 


BOOK    II. 

Chap,  I.- 

-The  Two  Sisters,     . 

69 

II.- 

-The  Tempter,      . 

74 

III.- 

-The  Wedding -Festival  of 

the  Princess  Ulrica, 

76 

rv.- 

-Behind  the  Curtain, 

79 

V. 

-The  Shame-faced  King,      . 

81 

VI. 

—The  First  Rendezvous, 

87 

vri. 

—On  the  Balcony, 

90 

VIII.- 

-The  First  Cloud, 

95 

IX.- 

-The  Council  of  War, 

101 

X. 

—The  Cloister  of  Camens, 

104 

XI.- 

-The  King  and  the  Abbot,  . 

107 

XII. 

—The  Unknown  Abbot,  , 

111 

XIII. 

—The  Levee  of  a  Dancer, 

114 

XIV. 

-The  Studio, 

121 

XV. 

—The  Confession, 

126 

XVI. 

—The  Traitor, 

129 

xvri. 

—The  Silver- Ware,     . 

135 

xvm. 

-The  First  Flash  of  Light- 

ning, 

137 

Chap.  I.- 
II. 

m.- 

IV.- 

v.- 

W.- 

VII.- 

VIII.- 

IX.- 

X.- 

XI. 

XIL- 

XUL- 

xrv.- 

XV. 

XVI.- 

xvn.- 


BOOK  III. 

-The  Actors  in  Halle,    . 

-The  Student  Luplnus, 

-The  iJisturbance  in  the  Thea 

tre,       ... 
-The  Friends, 
-The  Order  of  the  King, 
-The  Battle  of  Sohr, 
-After  the  Battle, 
-A  Letter  pregnant  with  Fate, 
-The  Return  to  Berlin,  . 
-Job's  Post,    .  .  , 

-The  Undeceived, 
-Trenck's  First  Flight, 
-The  Flight, 
-I  will, 

-The  Last  Struggle  for  Power, 
-The  Disturbance  in  the  Thea- 

tre, 
-Sans-Souci,  . 


BOOK   IV 

Chap.  I.— The  Promise,  . 

n. — ^Voltaire     and     his     Royal 

Friend, 

ni.— The  Confidence-Table, 

rv.— The  Confidential  Dinner, 

v.— Rome  Sauvee, 

VI. — A  Woman's  Heart,     . 

VII. — Madame  von  Cocceji, 

VIII.— Voltaire, 

IX.— A  Day  in  the  Life  of  Voltaire, 

X.— The  Lovers,      . 

XL— Barlnarina,    . 

XII. — Intrigues, 

XIII.— The  Last  atruggie. 


rAox 

145 
147 

150 
151 
154 
156 
159 
163 
169 
171 
176 
182 
191 
197 
203 

209 
213 


217 

224 
234 
244 
252 
256 
262 
267 
274 
283 
2S9 
294 
SOD 


ivi974:42 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI; 


OB, 


FREDERICK  THE    GREAT  AND    HIS  FRIENDS. 


BOOK     I. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  alchemist's  INCANTATION. 

It  was  a  lovely  May  morning  I  The 
early  rays  of  the  sun  had  not  withered 
the  blossoms,  or  paled  the  fresh  green 
of  the  garden  of  Charlottenburg,  but 
Quickened  them  into  new  life  and  beau- 
ty. The  birds  sang  merrily  in  the 
groves.  The  wind,  with  light  whis- 
pers, swept  through  the  long  avenues 
of  laurel  and  orange  trees,  which  sur- 
rounded the  superb  greenhouses  and 
conservatories,  and  scattered  far  and 
wide  throughout  the  garden  clouds  of 
intoxicating  perfume. 

The  garden  was  quiet  and  solitary, 
and  the  closed  shutters  of  the  castle 
proved  that  not  only  the  king,  but  the 
entire  household,  from  the  dignified  and 
important  chamberlain  to  the  frisky  gar- 
den-boy, still  slept.  Suddenly  the  si- 
lence was  broken  by  the  sound  of  hasty 
steps.  A  young  man  in  simple  citizen 
costume,  ran  up  the  great  avenue  which 
led  from  the  garden  gate  to  the  con- 
servatory; then,  cautiously  looking 
about  him,  he  drew  near  to  a  window 


of  the  lower  story  in  a  wing  of  the  cas- 
tle. The  window  was  closed  and  se- 
cured with  inside  shutters;  a  small 
piece  of  white  paper  was  seen  between 
the  glass  and  the  shutter.  A  passer-by 
might  have  supposed  this  was  acciden- 
tal, but  the  young  burgher  knew  that 
this  little  piece  of  paper  was  a  signal. 
His  light  stroke  upon  the  window  dis- 
turbed for  a  moment  the  deathlike  si- 
lence around,  but  produced  no  other 
effect;  he  struck  again,  more  loudly, 
and  listened  breathlessly.  The  shutters 
were  slowly  and  cautiously  opened  from 
within,  and  behind  the  glass  was  seen 
the  wan,  sick  face  of  Fredersdorf,  the 
private  secretary  and  favorite  of  the 
king.  When  he  saw  the  young  man, 
his  features  assumed  a  more  animated 
expression,  and  a  hopeful  smile  played 
upon  his  lip  ;  hastily  opening  the  win- 
dow, he  gave  the  youth  his  hand. 
"  Good-morning,  Joseph,"  said  he ;  "I 
have  not  slept  during  the  whole  night, 
I  was  so  impatient  to  receive  news  from 
you.     Has  he  shown  himself?  " 

Joseph  bowed  his  head  sadly.  "  He 
has  not  yet  shown  himself,"  he  replied, 
in  a  hollow  voice ;  "  all  our  efforts  have 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


been  in  vain;  we  have  again  sacrificed 
time,  money,  and  srreiagtb..  He  lias 
not  yet  appearej." 

♦'  Alas !  "  cried  Fredersdorf,,  *'  who 
could  believe  it  so  difficult' to  moye  the 
devil  to  appear  in  person,  '  wli en  he 
makes  his  j^resence  known  daily  and 
hourly  through  the  deeds  of  men  ?  I 
must  and  will  see  him  !  He  must  and 
shall  make  known  this  mystery.  He 
shall  teach  me  how  and  of  what  to  make 
gold." 

"  He  will  yield  at  last !  "  cried  Joseph, 
solemnly. 

"What  do  you  say,?  Will  we  suc- 
ceed ?    Is  not  all  hope  lost  ?  " 

*'  All  is  not  lost :  the  astrologer  heard 
this  night,  during  his  incantations,  the 
voice  of  the  devil,  and  saw  for  one  mo- 
ment the  glare  of  his  eye,  though  he 
could  not  see  his  person." 

"  He  saw  the  glare  of  his  eye  !  "  re- 
peated Fredersdorf,  joyfully.  "  Oh,  we 
will  yet  compel  him  to  show  himself 
wholly.  He  must  teach  us  to  make 
gold.  And  what  said  the  voice  of  the 
devil  to  our  astrologer  ?  " 

"He  said  these  words:  'Would  you 
see  my  face  and  hear  words  of  golden 
wisdom  from  my  lips  ?  so  offer  me, 
when  next  the  moon  is  full  and  shim- 
mers like  liquid  gold  in  the  heavens,  a 
black  ram ;  and  if  you  shed  his  blood 
for  me,  and  if  not  one  white  hair  can 
be  discovered  upon  him,  I  will  appear 
and  be  subject  to  you.' " 

"  Another  month  of  waiting,  of  im- 
patience, and  of  torture,"  murmured 
Fredersdorf.  "Four  weeks  to  search 
for  this  black  ram  without  a  single 
white  hair;  it  will  be  difficult  to 
find ! " 

"  Oh,  the  world  is  large ;  we  will 
send  our  messengers  in  every  quarter ; 
we  will  find  it.  Those  who  truly  seek, 
find  at  last  what  they  covet.  But  we 
will  require  much  gold,  and  we  are  suf- 
fering now,  unhappily,  for  the  want  of 
It." 


"  We  ?  whom  do  you  mean  by  we  ?  " 
asked  Fredersdorf,  with  a  contemptuous 
shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"I,  in  my  own  person,  above  all 
others,  need  gold.  You  can  well  un- 
derstand, my  brother,  that  a  student  as 
I  am  has  no  superfluous  gold,  even  to 
pay  his  tailor's  bills,  much  less  to  buy 
black  rams.  Captain  Kleist,  in  whose 
house  the  assembly  meets  to-night,  has 
already  oflfered  up  far  more  valuable 
things  than  a  score  of  black  rams ;  he 
has  sacrificed  his  health,  his  rest,  and 
his  domestic  peace.  His  beautiful  wife 
finds  it  strange,  indeed,  that  he  should 
seek  the  devil  every  night  everywhere 
else  than  in  her  lovely  presence." 

"Yes,  I  understand  that!  The  be- 
witching Madame  Kleist  must  ever  re- 
main the  vain-glorious  and  coquettish 
Louise  von  Schwerin;  marriage  has  in- 
fused no  water  in  her  veins." 

"  No  !  but  it  has  poured  a  river  of 
wine  in  the  blood  of  her  husband,  and 
in  this  turbid  stream  their  love  and 
happiness  is  drowned.  Kleist  is  but  a 
corpse,  whom  we  must  soon  bury  from 
our  sight.  The  king  has  made  separa- 
tion and  divorce  easy ;  yes,  easier  than 
marriage.  Is  it  not  so,  my  brother  ? 
Ah,  you  blush ;  j^ou  find  that  your 
light-hearted  brother  has  more  observ- 
ant eyes  than  you  thought,  and  sees 
that  which  you  intended  to  conceal. 
Yes,  yes  !  I  have  indeed  seen  that  you 
have  been  wounded  by  Cupid's  arrow, 
and  that  your  heart  bleeds  while  our 
noble  king  refuses  his  consent  to  your 
marriage." 

"Ah,  let  me  once  discover  this  holy 
mystery — once  learn  how  to  make  gold, 
and  I  will  have  no  favor  to  ask  of  any 
earthly  monarch ;  I  shall  acknowl- 
edge no  other  sovereign  than  my  owd 
will." 

And  to  become  possessor  ot  tnis  se- 
cret, and  your  own  master,  you  require 
nothing  but  a  black  ram.  Create  for 
us,  then,  my  powerful    and    wealthy 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


brother,  a  black  ram,  and  the  work  is 
done ! " 

"  Alas !  to  think,"  cried  Fredersdorf, 
'that  I  cannot  absent  myself;  that  I 
must  fold  my  hands  and  wait  silently 
and  quietly  !  What  slavery  is  this !  but 
you,  you  are  not  in  bondage  as  I  am. 
The  whole  world  is  before  you;  you 
can  seek  throughout  the  universe  for 
this  blood  -  offering  demanded  by  the 
devil." 

"  Give  us  gold,  brother,  and  we  will 
seek;  without  gold,  no  black  ram; 
without  the  black  ram,  no  devil  I  " 

Fredersdorf  disappeared  a  mo- 
ment, and  returned  with  a  well-filled 
purse,  which  he  handed  to  his  brother. 
"  There,  take  the  gold ;  send  your  mes- 
sengers in  every  quarter ;  go  yourself 
and  search.  You  must  either  find  or 
create  him.  I  swear  to  you,  if  you  do 
not  succeed,  I  will  withdraw  my  pro- 
tection from  you ;  you  will  only  be  a  poor 
student,  and  must  maintain  yourself  by 
your  studies." 

"That  would  be  a  sad  support,  in- 
deed," said  the  young  man,  smiling. 
"J  am  more  than  willing  to  choose 
another  path  of  life.  I  would,  indeed, 
prefer  being  an  artist  to  being  a  philos- 
opher." 

"  An  artist ! "  cried  Fredersdorf, 
contemptuously ;  "  have  you  discovered 
in  yourself  an  artist's  vein  ? " 

"  Yes ;  or  rather,  Eckhof  has  awak- 
ened my  sleeping  talent." 

"Eckhof— who  is  Eckhof? " 

"How?  you  ask  who  is  Eckhof? 
you  know  not,  then,  this  great,  this 
exalted  artist,  who  arrived  here  some 
weeks  since,  and  has  entranced  every 
one  who  has  a  German  heart  in  his 
bosom,  by  his  glorious  acting  ?  I  saw 
bim  a  few  days  since  in  Golsched's 
Cato.  Ah !  my  brother,  on  that  even- 
ing it  was  clear  to  me  that  I  also  was 
born  for  something  greater  than  to  sit 
in  a  lonely  study,  and  seek  in  musty 
books  for  useless  scraps  of  knowledge. 


No  1  I  wiU  not  make  the  world  still 
darker  and  mistier  for  myself  with  the 
dust  of  ancient  books ;  I  will  illuminate 
my  world  by  the  noblest  of  all  arts — I 
will  become  an  actor  !  " 

"Fantastic  fooll"  said  his  brother. 
"  A  Oerman  actor !  that  is  to  say,  a 
beggar  and  a  vagabond  I  who  wanders 
from  city  to  city,  and  from  village  to 
village,  with  his  stage  finery,  who  is 
laughed  at  everywhere,  even  as  the 
monkeys  are  laughed  at  when  they 
make  their  somersets  over  the  camels' 
backs ;  it  might  answer  to  be  a  dancer, 
or,  at  least,  a  French  actor." 

"  It  is  true  that  the  German  stage  is 
a  castaway — a  Cinderella — thrust  aside, 
and  clothed  with  sackloth  and  ashes, 
while  the  spoiled  and  petted  step-child 
is  clothed  in  gold-embroidered  robes. 
Alas  !  alas  !  it  is  a  bitter  thing  that  the 
French  actors  are  summoned  by  the 
king  to  perform  in  the  royal  castle, 
while  Schonemein,  the  director  of  the 
German  theatre,  must  rent  the  Council- 
house  for  a  large  sum  of  money,  and 
must  pay  a  heavy  tax  for  the  permis- 
sion to  give  to  the  German  public  a 
German  stage.  Wait  patiently,  broth- 
er, all  this  shall  be  changed,  when  the 
mysteiy  of  mysteries  is  discovered,  when 
we  have  found  the  black  ram  !  I  blesa 
the  accident  which  gave  me  a  knowl- 
edge of  your  secret,  which  forced  you 
to  receive  me  as  a  member  in  order  to 
secure  my  silence.  I  shall  be  rich, 
powerful,  and  influential ;  I  will  build 
a  superb  theatre,  and  fill  the  German 
heart  with  wonder  and  rapture." 

"  Well,  well,  let  us  first  understand 
the  art  of  making  gold,  and  we  will 
make  the  whole  world  our  theatre,  and 
all  mankind  shall  play  before  us ! 
Hasten,  therefore,  brother,  hasten  !  By 
the  next  full  moon  we  will  be  the  al- 
mighty rulers  of  the  earth  and  all  that 
is  therein '. " 

"Always  provided  that  wo  have 
found  the  black  ram." 


8 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOTJCI ;    OR, 


"  "We  •will  find  him !  If  necessary,  we 
will  give  his  weight  in  gold,  and  gold 
can  do  all  things.  Honor,  love,  power, 
jjosition,  and  fame,  can  all  be  bought 
with  gold  1  Let  us,  then,  make  haste 
to  be  rich.  To  be  rich  is  to  be  inde- 
pendent, free,  and  gloriously  happy. 
Go,  my  brother,  go !  and  may  you  soon 
return  crowned  with  success." 

"  I  have  stil]  a  few  weighty  questions 
to  ask.  In  the  first  place,  where  shall 
I  go?" 

"To  seek  the  black  ram — it  makes 
no  diflFereuce  where." 

*'  Ah  1  it  makes  no  difference  !  You 
do  not  seem  to  remember  that  the  va- 
cation is  over,  that  the  professors  of  the 
University  of  Halle  have  threatened  to 
dismiss  me  if  my  attendance  is  so  ir- 
regular. I  must,  therefore,  return  to 
Halle  to-day,  or — " 

"  Return  to  Halle  to  -  day  !  "  cried 
Fredersdorf,  with  horror.  ''That  is 
impossible  I  You  cannot  return  to 
Halle,  unless  you  have  already  found 
what  we  need." 

"And  that  not  being  the  case,  I 
shall  not  return  to  HaUe;  I  shall  be 
dismissed,  and  will  cease  to  be  a  stu- 
dent. Do  you  consent,  then,  that  I 
shall  become  an  actor,  and  take  the 
great  Eckhof  for  my  only  professor  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  consent,  provided  the  com- 
mand of  the  alchemist  is  complied 
with." 

"  And  how  if  the  alchemist,  notwith- 
standing the  blood  of  the  black  ram,  is 
unhappily  not  able  to  bring  up  the 
devil  ? " 

At  this  question,  a  feverish  crimson 
spot  took  possession  of  the  wan  cheek 
of  Fredersdorf,  which  was  instantly 
chased  away  by  a  more  intense  pallor. 
"  If  that  is  the  result,  I  will  either  go 
mad  or  die,"  he  murmured. 

"And  then  will  you  see  the  devil 
face  to  face !  "  cried  his  brother,  with 
a  gay  laugh.  "  But  perhaps  you  might 
find  a  Eurydice  to  unlock  the  under 


world  for  you.  Well,  wc  shall  see. 
Till  then,  farewell,  brother,  farewell." 
Noddmg  merrily  to  Fredersdorf,  Jo- 
seph hurried  away. 

Fredersdorf  watched  his  tall  and 
graceful  figure  as  it  disappeared 
among  the  trees,  with  a  sad  smile. 

"He  possesses  something  which  is 
worth  more  than  power  or  gold  ;  he  is 
young,  healthy,  full  of  hope  and  confi- 
dence. The  world  belongs  to  him. 
while  I—" 

The  sound  of  footsteps  called  his  at- 
tention again  to  the  allee. 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE   OLD   COTIRTIEK. 


The  figure  of  a  man  was  seen  ap- 
IDroaching,  but  with  steps  less  light  and 
active  than  young  Joseph's.  As  the 
stranger  drew  nearer,  Fredersdorfs 
features  expressed  great  surprise. 
When  at  last  he  drew  up  at  the  win- 
dow, the  secretary  burst  into  a  hearty 
laugh. 

"  Von  Pollnitz !  really  and  truly  I  do 
not  deceive  myself,"  cried  Fredersdorf, 
clapping  his  hands  together,  and 
again  and  again  uttering  peals  of 
laughter,  in  which  Pollnitz  heartily 
joined. 

Then  suddenly  assuming  a  grave  and 
dignified  manner,  Fredersdorf  bowed 
lowly  and  reverentially.  "Pardon, 
Baron  Pollnitz,  pardon,"  said  he  in  a 
tone  of  mock  humility,  "  that  I  have 
dared  to  welcome  you  in  such  an  un- 
seemly manner.  I  was  indeed  amazed 
to  see  you  again;  you  had  taken  an 
eternal  leave  of  the  court,  we  had  shed 
rivers  of  tears  over  your  irreparable 
loss,  and  your  unexpected  pxesence 
completely  overpowered  me." 

"  Mock  and  jeer  at  me  to  yc  lur  heart's 
content,  dear  Fredersdorf;  I  will  iov- 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND   HIS   FRIENDS. 


9 


fully  and  lustily  unite  in  your  laughter 
and  your  sport,  as  soon  as  I  have  re- 
covered from  the  fearful  jolting  of  the 
carriage  which  brought  me  here.  Be 
pleased  to  open  the  window  a  little 
more,  and  place  a  chair  on  the  outside, 
that  I  may  climb  in,  like  an  ardent, 
eager  lover.  I  have  not  patience  to  go 
round  to  the  castle  door." 

Fredersdorf  silently  obeyed  orders, 
and  in  a  few  moments.  Von  PoUnitz 
was  lying  comfortably  stretched  out  on 
a  sUk  divan,  in  the  secretary's  room. 

"Ask  me  no  questions,  Fredersdorf," 
said  he,  breathing  loudly;  "leave  me 
awhile  to  enjoy  undisturbed  the  com- 
fort of  your  sofa,  and  do  me  the  favor 
first  to  answer  me  a  few  questions,  be- 
fore I  reply  to  yours." 

"Demand,  baron,  and  I  will  answer," 
said  Fredersdorf,  seating  himself  on  a 
chair  near  the  sofa. 

"  First  of  all,  who  is  King  of  Prus- 
sia? You,  or  Jordan,  —  or  General 
Kothenberg, — or  Chazot, — or — speak, 
man,  who  is  King  of  Prussia  ?  " 

"Frederick  the  Second,  and  he 
alone ;  and  he  so  entirely,  that  even  his 
ministers  are  nothing  more  than  his 
secretaries,  to  write  at  his  dictation ; 
and  his  generals  are  only  subordinate 
engineers  to  draw  the  plans  of  battle 
which  he  has  already  fully  determined 
apon ;  his  composers  are  only  the  copy- 
ists of  his  melodies  and  his  musical 
conceptions;  the  architects  are  carpen- 
ters to  build  according  to  the  plan 
which  he  has  either  drawn  or  chosen 
from  amongst  old  Grecian  models : 
in  short,  all  who  serve  him  are  literally 
servants  in  this  great  state  machine ; 
they  understand  his  will  and  obey  it, 
nothing  more." 

"  Hum !  that  is  bad,  very  bad,"  said 
Pollnitz,  "  I  have  found,  however,  that 
there  are  two  sorts  of  men,  and  you 
have  mentioned  in  your  catalogue  but 
one  species,  who  have  fallen  so  com- 
pletely under  the  hand  of  Frederick. 


You  have  said  nothing  of  his  cook,  of 
his  valet  de  chambre,  and  yet  these  arc 
most  important  persons.  You  must 
know  that  in  the  presence  of  these 
powers,  a  king  ceases  to  be  a  king,  and 
indeed  becomes  an  entirely  common 
place  mortal,  who  eats  and  drinks  and 
clothes  himself,  and  who  must  either 
conceal  or  adorn  his  bodily  necessities 
and  weaknesses  like  any  other  man." 

Fredersdorf  shook  his  head  sadly. 
"It  seems  to  me  that  Frederick  the 
Second  is  beyond  the  pale  of  tempta- 
tion; for  even  with  his  cook  and  his 
valet  he  is  still  a  king ;  his  cook  may 
prepare  him  the  most  costly  and  luxu- 
rious viands,  but  unhappily  they  do  not 
lead  him  into  temptation  ;  a  bad  dish 
makes  him  angry,  but  the  richest  and 
choicest  food  has  no  eflfect  upon  his  hu- 
mor; he  is  exactly  the  same  before 
dinner  as  after,  fasting  or  feasting,  and 
the  favor  he  refuses  before  the  cham- 
pagne, he  never  grants  afterward." 

"  The  devil !  that  is  worse  still !  " 
murmured  Pollnitz.  "  And  the  valet 
—  with  him  also  does  the  king  remain 
king?" 

"  Yes,  so  entirely,  that  he  scarcely 
allows  his  valet  to  touch  him.  He 
shaves,  coifs,  and  dresses  himself." 

"  My  God  !  who  then  has  any  influ- 
ence over  him  ?  To  whom  can  I  turn 
to  obtain  a  favor  for  me  ? " 

"  To  his  dogs,  dear  baron ;  they  are 
now  the  only  influential  dependants ! " 

"  Do  you  mean  truly  the  four-footed 
dogs  ? — or —  " 

"  The  four-footed,  dearest  baron  ! 
Frederick  has  more  confidence  in  them 
than  in  any  two-legged  animal.  You 
know  the  king  always  trusted  much  to 
the  instincts  of  his  dogs;  he  has  now 
gone  so  far  in  this  confidence,  as  to  be- 
lieve that  the  hounds  have  an  instinc- 
tive aversion  to  all  false,  wicked,  and 
evil-minded  men.  It  is  therefore  very 
important  to  every  new-comer  to  be 
well  received  by  the  hounds,  as  the 


to 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


king's  reception  is  somewhat  dependent 
upon  theira" 

"Is  Biche  yet  with  the  king  ? " 

"Yes,  still  his  greatest  favorite," 

"  I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  that  1  I  was 
always  in  favor  with  the  Signora 
Biche ;  it  was  her  custom  to  smell  my 
pocket,  hoping  to  find  chocolate.  I 
beseech  you,  therefore,  dearest  friend, 
to  give  me  some  chocolate,  with  which 
I  may  touch  and  soften  the  heart  of 
the  noble  signora,  and  thus  induce  the 
king  to  look  upon  me  favorably." 

"  I  will  stick  a  half  pound  in  each  of 
your  pockets,  and  if  Biciie  still  growls 
at  you,  it  will  be  a  proof  that  she  is 
far  more  noble  than  men ;  in  shorty  that 
she  cannot  be  bribed.  Have  you  fin- 
ished with  your  questions  ?  I  think  it 
is  now  my  time  to  begin." 

"  Not  so,  my  friend.  My  head  is  still 
entirely  filled  with  questions,  and  they 
are  twining  and  twisting  about  like 
the  fishing-worms  in  a  bag,  by  the  help 
of  which  men  hope  to  secure  fish.  Be 
pitiful  and  allow  me  to  fasten  a  few 
more  of  these  questions  to  my  fishing- 
rod,  and  thus  try  to  secure  my  future." 

"  Well,  then,  go  on — ask  further  !  " 

"  Does  Frederick  show  no  special  in- 
terest in  any  prima  donna  of  the  opera, 
the  ballet,  or  the  theatre  ? " 

"  No,  he  cares  for  none  of  these 
things." 

"  Is  his  heart,  then,  entirely  turned  to 
stone  ? " 

"Wholly  and  entirely," 

"  And  the  qtieen-mother,  has  she  no 
Influence  ? " 

"  My  God  1  Baron  Pollnitz,  how 
long  have  you  been  away?  You  ask 
me  as  many  questions  as  if  you  had 
fallen  directly  from  the  moon,  and 
knew  not  even  the  outward  appearance 
of  the  court." 

"  Dear  friend,  I  have  been  a  whole 

ear  away,  that  is  to  say,  an  eternity. 

he  court  is  a  very  slippery  place ;  and 

a  man  does  not  accustom  himself 


hourly  to  walk  over  this  glassy  parquet 
he  will  surely  fall. 

"Also,  there  is  nothing  so  uncertain 
as  a  court  life ;  that  which  is  true  to- 
day, is  to-morrow  considered  incredi- 
ble ;  that  which  was  beautiful  yester- 
day is  thrust  aside  to-day,  as  hateful  to 
look  upon ;  that  which  we  despise  to- 
day is  to-morrow  sought  after  as  a  rare 
and  precious  gem. 

"  Oh,  I  have  had  my  experiences.  I 
remember,  that  while  I  was  residing  at 
the  court  of  Saxony,  I  composed  a 
poem  in  honor  of  the  Countess  Aurora 
of  Konigsmark.  Tliis  was  by  special 
command  of  the  king ;  the  poem  was 
to  be  set  to  music  by  Hasse,  and  sung 
by  the  Italian  singers  on  the  birthday 
of  Aurora.  Well,  the  Countess  Aurora 
was  cast  aside  befor''  my  poem  was  fin- 
ished, and  the  Countess  Kozel  had 
taken  her  place.  I  finished  my  poem, 
but  Amelia,  and  not  Aurora,  was  my 
heroine.  Hasse  composed,  the  music, 
and  no  one  who  attended  the  concert, 
given  in  honor  of  the  birthday  of  the 
Countess  Kozel,  had  an  idea  that  this 
festal  cantata  had  been  originally  or- 
dered for  Aurora  of  Konigsmark  I 

"  Once,  while  I  was  in  Russia,  I  had 
an  audience  from  the  Empress  Eliza- 
beth. As  I  approached  the  castle,  lean- 
ing on  the  arm  of  the  Captain  Ischer- 
batow,  I  observed  the  guard,  who  stood 
before  the  door,  and  presented  arms. 
Well,  eight  weeks  later,  this  common 
guard  was  a  general  and  a  prince,  and 
Ischerbatow  was  compelled  to  bow  be- 
fore him ! 

"I  saw  in  Venice  a  picture  of  the 
day  of  judgment,  by  Tintoretto.  In 
this  picture  both  Paradise  and  Hell 
were  portrayed.  I  saw  in  Paradise 
a  lovely  woman  glowing  with  youth, 
beauty,  and  grace.  She  was  reclining 
in  a  most  enchanting  attitude,  upon  a 
bed  of  roses,  and  surrounded  by  angels. 
Below,  on  the  other  half  of  the  picture 
— that  is  to  say.  in  Hell — I  saw  the 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


11 


same  woman ;  slie  liad  no  couch  of  roses, 
but  was  stretched  upon  a  glowing  grid- 
iron; no  smiling  angels  surrounded 
her,  but  a  hideous,  grinning  devil  tore 
her  flesh  with  red-hot  pincers. 

"  Pope  Adi'ian  had  commanded  Tin- 
toretto to  paint  this  picture,  to  make 
it  a  monument  in  honor  of  the  lovely 
Cinnia,  and  to  glorify  her  by  all  the 
power  of  art.  Cinnia  was  a  very  dear 
friend  of  Adrian.  He  was  not  only  a 
pope,  but  a  man,  and  a  man  who  took 
pleasure  in  all  beautiful  things.  Cinnia 
was  enchanting,  and  it  was  Tintoretto's 
first  duty  to  paint  her  picture,  and 
make  her  the  principal  object  in  Para- 
dise. But  look  you !  the  Last  Judg- 
ment by  Tintoretto  was  a  large  paint- 
ing, so  large  that  to  coimt  even  the 
heads  upon  it  is  laborious.  The  heads 
in  each  corner  are  counted  separately, 
and  then  added  together.  It  required 
some  years,  of  course,  to  paint  such  a 
picture;  and  by  the  time  Tintoretto 
had  completed  Paradise  ^nd  com- 
menced the  lower  regions,  many  sad 
changes  had  occurred.  The  fond  heart 
of  the  seducing  Cinnia  had  withdrawn 
itself  from  the  pope  and  clung  tena- 
ciously to  Prince  Colonna.  The  Holy 
Father,  as  we  have  said  before,  not- 
withstanding he  was  pope,  had  some 
human  weaknesses ;  he  naturally  hated 
the  fair  inconstant,  and  sought  revenge. 
He  recommended  Tintoretto  to  bring 
the  erring  one  once  more  before  the 
public — this  time,  however,  as  a  guilty 
and  condemned  sinner  in  hell. 

"  Dear  Frcdcrsdorf,  I  think  always 
of  this  picture  when  I  look  at  the  fa- 
vorites of  princes  and  kings,  and  I 
amuse  myself  with  their  pride  and  ar- 
rogance. When  I  see  them  in  their 
sunny  paradise  of  power  and  influence, 
1  say  to  myself,  '  All's  well  for  the  fleet- 
ing present,  I'll  wait  patiently ;  soon  I 
shall  see  you  roasting  on  the  glowing 
gridiron  of  royal  displeasure,  and  the 
envious  devils  of  this  world  filled  with 


rapture  at  your  downfall,  will  tear 
your  flesh  in  pieces.'  Friend  Freders- 
dorf,  that  is  my  answer  to  your  ques- 
tion as  to  whether  I  have  in  one  short 
year  forgotten  the  quality  of  court 
life." 

"  And  by  Heaven,  that  is  a  profound 
answer,  which  shows  at  least  that 
Baron  Pollnitz  has  undergone  no 
change  during  the  last  year,  but  is  still 
the  experienced  man  of  the  world  and 
the  wise  cavalier  !  " 

"  But  why  do  you  not  give  me  my 
title,  Fredersdorf?  Why  do  you  not 
call  me  grand  chamberlain  ?  " 

"  Because  you  are  no  longer  in  the 
service  of  the  king,  but  have  received 
your  dismissal." 

"  Alas !  God  grant  that  the  Signora 
Biche  is  favorable  to  me;  then  will 
the  king,  as  I  hope,  forget  this  dismis- 
sal. One  question  more.  You  say 
that  the  queen-mother  has  no  influence; 
how  is  it  with  the  wife  of  the  king, 
Elizabeth  Chi-istine  ?  Is  she  indeed  the 
reigning  sovereign  ? " 

"  When  did  you  return  to  Berlin  ? " 

"  Now,  to-night ;  and  when  I  left 
the  carriage,  I  hastened  here." 

"  Well,  that  is  some  excuse  for  your 
question.  If  you  have  only  just  ar- 
rived, you  could  not  possibly  know  of 
the  important  event  which  will  take 
place  at  the  court  to-night.  This  even- 
ing the  king  will  present  his  brother, 
Augustus  William,  to  the  court  as 
Prince  of  Prussia,  and  his  successor. 
I  think  that  is  a  sufficient  answer  to 
your  question.  As  to  Queen  Elizabeth 
Christine,  she  lives  in  Schonhausen, 
and  might  be  called  the  widow  of  her 
husband.  The-  king  never  addresses 
one  word  to  her,  not  even  on  grand 
festal  days,  when  etiquette  compels 
him  to  take  a  seat  by  her  at  table." 

"  Now  one  last  question,  dear  friend. 
How  is  it  with  yourself  ?  Are  you  in- 
fluential ?  Does  Frederick  love  you  as 
warmly  as  he  did  a  year  ago  ?    Do  you 


12 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


hope  to  reacli  the  goal  of  your  ambi- 
tion, and  to  become  all-powerful  ?  " 

"  I  have  ceased  to  be  ambitious," 
sighed  Fredersdorf.  "  I  no  longer 
thirst  to  be  the  king  of  a  king.  My 
only  desire  is  to  be  independent  of 
courts  and  kings — in  short,  to  be  my 
own  master.  Perhaps  I  may  succeed 
in  this;  if  not,  be  ruined,  as  many 
others  have  been.  If  I  cannot  tear  my 
chains  apart,  I  will  perish  under  them  I 
As  for  my  influence  over  the  king,  it  is 
suflScient  to  say,  that  for  six  months  I 
have  loved  a  woman  to  distraction,  who 
returns  my  passion  with  ardor,  and  I 
cannot  marry  her  because  the  king, 
notwithstanding  my  prayers  and  agony, 
wiU  not  consent." 

"  He  is  right,"  said  Pollnitz,  earnest- 
ly, as  he  stretched  himself  out  com- 
fortably on  the  sofa ;  "  he  is  a  fool  who 
tliinks  of  yielding  up  his  manly  free- 
dom to  any  woman." 

"  You  say  that,  baron  ?  you,  who 
gave  up  king  and  court,  and  went  to 
Numberg  in  order  that  you  might 
marry  !  " 

"  Aha,  how  adroitly  you  have  played 
the  knife  out  of  my  hands,  and  have 
yourself  become  the  questioner  I  Well, 
it  is  but  just  that  you  also  should  have 
your  curiosity  satisfied.  Demand  of 
me  now  and  I  will  answer  frankly." 

"  You  are  not  married,  baron  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least ;  and  I  have  sworn 
that  the  goddess  Fortuna  alone  shall 
be  my  beloved.  I  will  have  no  mortal 
wife." 

"  The  report,  then,  is  untrue  that 
you  have  again  changed  your  religion, 
and  become  Protestant  ? " 

"  No,  this  time  rumor  has  spoken 
the  truth.  The  Nurnberger  patrician 
would  accept  no  hand  offered  by  a 
Catholic  ;  so  I  took  off  the  glove  of  my 
Catholicism  and  drew  on  my  Protes- 
tant one.  My  God !  to  be  a  man  of 
the  world,  his  outside  faitli  is  nothing 
more  than  an  article  of  the  toilet.    Do 


you  not  know  that  it  is  hon  ton  foi 
princes  when  they  visit  strange  courts 
to  wear  the  orders  and  uniforms  of  theit 
entertainers  ?  So  it  is  my  rule  of  eti- 
quette to  adopt  the  religion  which  the 
circumstances  in  which  I  find  myself 
seem  to  make  suitable  and  profitable. 
My  situation  in  Nurnberg  demanded 
that  I  should  become  a  Protestant,  and 
I  became  one." 

"  And  for  all  that  the  marriage  did 
not  take  place  'i  " 

"  No,  it  was  broken  off  through  the 
obstinacy  of  my  bride,  who  refused  to 
live  in  good  fellowship  and  equality 
with  me,  and  gave  me  only  the  use  of 
her  income,  and  no  right  in  her  proper- 
ty. Can  you  conceive  of  such  folly  ? 
She  imagined  I  would  give  myself  in 
marriage,  and  make  a  baroness  of  an 
indifferently  pretty  burgher  maiden; 
yes,  a  baroness  of  the  realm,  and  ex- 
pect no  other  compensation  for  it  than 
a  wife  to  bore  me !  She  wished  to 
wed  my  rank,  and  found  it  offensive 
that  I  should  marry,  not  only  her  fair 
self,  but  her  millions  I  The  contest 
over  this  point  broke  off  the  contract, 
and  I  am  glad  of  it.  From  my  whole 
soul  I  regret  and  am  ashamed  of  hav- 
ing ever  thought  of  marriage.  The 
king,  therefore,  has  reason  to  be  pleased 
with  me." 

"  You  are  thinking,  then,  seriously 
of  remaining  at  court  ?  " 

"  Do  you  not  find  that  natural,  Fre- 
dersdorf? I  have  lived  fifty  years  at 
this  court,  and  accustomed  myself  to 
its  stupidity,  its  nothingness,  and  its 
ceremony,  as  a  man  may  accustom  him- 
self to  a  hard  tent-bed,  and  find  it  at 
last  more  luxurious  than  a  couch  of 
eider-down.  Besides,  I  have  just  lost 
a  million  in  Nurnberg,  and  I  must  find 
a  compensation ;  the  means  at  least  to 
close  my  life  worthily  as  a  cavalier.  I 
must,  therefore,  again  bow  my  free 
neck,  and  enter  service.  You  must  aid 
me,  and  this  day  obtain  for  me  an  au 


FREDEuICK  THE  GREAT  A^^D   HIS  FRIENDS. 


13 


dience  of  the  king.  I  hope  your  influ- 
ence will  reach  that  far.  The  rest 
must  be  my  own  affair." 

"  We  will  see  what  can  be  done.  I 
have  joyful  news  for  the  king  to-day. 
Perhaps  it  will  make  him  gay  and  com- 
plaisant, and  he  will  grant  you  an  au- 
dience." 

'*  And  this  news  which  you  have  for 
him?" 

"  The  Barbarina  has  arrived  1 " 

"  What !  the  celebrated  dancer  ?  " 

"  The  same.  We  have  seized  and 
forcibly  carried  her  off  from  the  repub- 
lic of  Venice  and  from  Lord  McKenzie ; 
and  Baron  Swartz  has  brought  her  as 
prisoner  to  Berlin  !  " 

Pollnitz  half  raised  himself  from  the 
sofa,  and,  seizing  the  arm  of  the  pri- 
vate secretary,  he  looked  him  joyfully 
in  the  face.  "  I  have  conceived  a 
plan,"  said  he,  "  a  heavenly  plan  !  My 
friend,  the  sun  of  power  and  splendor 
is  rising  for  us,  and  your  ambition, 
which  has  been  weary  and  ready  to 
die,  will  now  revive,  and  raise  its  head 
proudly  on  high  1  That  which  I  have 
long  sought  for  is  at  last  found.  The 
king  is  too  young,  too  ardent,  too 
much  the  genius  and  the  poet,  to  be 
completely  unimpassioned.  Even  Achil- 
les was  not  impenetrable  in  the  heel, 
and  Frederick  has  also  his  mortal  part. 
Do  you  know,  Fredersdorf,  who  wUl 
discover  the  weak  point,  and  send  an 
airow  there  ?  " 

«  No." 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you :  the  Signora 
Barbarina.  Ah,  you  smile  !  you  shake 
your  imbelieving  head.  You  are  no 
good  psychologist.  Do  you  not  know 
that  we  desire  most  earnestly  that  which 
Beams  difficult,  if  not  impossible  to  at- 
tain, and  prize  most  highly  that  which 
we  have  won  with  danger  and  difficul- 
ty ?  Judge,  also,  how  precious  a  treas- 
ure the  Barbarina  must  be  to  Frederick. 
For  her  sake,  he  has  for  months  car- 
ried on  a  diplomatic  contest  with  Ven- 


ice, and  at  last  he  has  literally  torn  her 
away  from  my  Lord  Stuart  McKenzie." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Fredersdorf, 
thoughtfully ;  "  for  ten  f''ay3  the  king 
has  waited  with  a  rare  impatience  for 
the  arrival  of  this  beautiful  dancer,  and 
he  commanded  that,  as  soon  as  she 
reached  Berlin,  it  should  be  announced 
to  him." 

"  I  tell  you  the  king  will  adore  the 
Signora  Barbarina,"  said  Pollnitz,  as 
he  once  more  stretched  himself  upon 
the  sofa  pillows.  "  I  shall  visit  her  to- 
day, and  make  the  necessary  arrange- 
ments. Now  I  am  content.  I  see 
land,  a  small  island  of  glorious  prom- 
ise, which  will  receive  me,  the  poor 
shipwrecked  mariner,  and  give  me  shel- 
ter and  protection,  I  will  make  my- 
self the  indispensable  counsellor  of 
Barbarina;  I  will  teach  her  how  she 
can  melt  the  stony  heart  of  Frederick, 
and  make  him  her  willing  slave." 

"  Dreams,  dreams  !  "  said  Freders- 
dorf, shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"  Dreams  which  I  will  make  realities 
as  soon  as  you  obtain  me  an  audience 
with  the  king." 

"  Well,  we  will  see  what  can  be 
done,  and  whether  —  but  listen,  the 
king  is  awake,  and  has  opened  hia 
window.  He  is  playing  upon  the  flute, 
which  is  his  morning  custom.  His 
morning  music  is  always  the  barometer 
of  his  mood,  and  I  can  generally  judge 
what  kind  of  royal  weather  we  may 
have,  whether  bright  or  stormy.  Come 
with  me  to  the  window  and  listen 
awhile." 

"Agreed,"  said  PollnitZi,  and  ht 
sprang  with  youthful  elasticity  from 
the  divan  and  joined  Fredersdorf  at 
the  window.  They  listened  almost 
breathlessly  to  the  sweet  tones  which 
seemed  to  whisper  to  them  from  the 
upper  windows ;  then  mingling  and 
melting  with  the  perfume  of  the  orange- 
blossoms  and  the  glorious  and  life-giv- 
ing morning  air,  they  forced  their  sweet 


14 


BERLIN  AND  SANS^OUCI;    OR, 


and  subtle  essence  into  the  room  with 
the  cunning  and  hardened  old  courtiers. 

Fredersdorf  and  PoUnitz  listened  as 
a  sly  bat  listens  to  the  merry  whistling 
of  an  innocent  bird,  and  watches  the 
propitious  moment  t6  spring  upon  her 
prey.  It  was  an  adagio  which  the 
king  played  upon  his  flute,  and  he  was 
indeed  a  master  in  the  art.  Slightly 
trembling,  as  if  in  eternal  melancholy, 
sobbing  and  pleading,  soon  bursting 
out  in  rapturous  and  joyful  strains  of 
harmony,  again  sighing  and  weeping, 
these  melting  tones  fell  like  costly 
pearls  upon  the  summer  air.  The  birds 
in  the  odorous  bushes,  the  wind  which 
rustled  in  the  trees,  the  light  waves  of 
the  river,  which  with  soft  murmurs 
prattled  ujoon  the  shore,  all  Nature 
seemed  for  the  moment  to  hold  her  breath 
and  listen  to  this  enchanting  melody. 
Even  Fredersdorf  felt  the  power  and 
influence  of  this  music  as  he  had  done 
iu  earlier  days.  The  old  love  for  his 
king  filled  his  heart,  and  his  eyes  were 
misty  Avith  tears. 

As  the  music  ceased,  Fredersdorf  ex- 
claimed involuntarily  :  "  He  is,  after  all, 
the  noblest  and  greatest  of  men.  It  is 
useless  to  be  angry  with  him.  I  am 
forced  against  my  will  to  worship  him." 

*'  Now,"  said  PoUuitz,  whose  face  had 
not  for  one  moment  lost  its  expression 
of  cold  attention  and  sly  cunning,  "  how 
says  the  barometer  ?  May  we  promise 
ourselves  a  clear  and  sunny  day  I  " 

"  Yes,  Frederick  is  in  one  of  his  soft 
and  yielding  moods.  It  is  probable  he 
has  been  some  hours  awake,  and  has 
written  to  some  of  his  friends — perhaps 
to  Voltaire,  or  Algarotti ;  this  makes 
him  always  bright  and  clear." 

"  You  think  I  shall  obtain  my  audi- 
ence?" 

"  I  think  you  will." 

"Then,  dear  friend,  I  have  only  to 
say  that  I  hope  you  will  give  me  the 
chocolate  for  that  noble  and  soul-search- 
ing-hound, the  Signora  Biche." 


CHAPTER  HL 

THE   MORNrNG  HOURS  OB"  A  KING, 

KrNG  Frederick  had  finished  the 
adagio,  and  stood  leaning  against  the 
window,  gazing  into  the  garden;  his 
eyes,  usually  so  fierce  and  commanding, 
were  softened  by  melancholy,  and  a 
sad  smile  played  upon  his  lips.  The 
touching  air  which  he  had  played  found 
its  echo  within,  and  held  his  soul  a 
prisoner  to  troubled  thought.  Sudden- 
ly he  seemed  to  rouse  himself  by  a 
great  effort  to  the  realities  of  life,  and, 
hastily  ringing  the  bell,  he  commanded 
Jordan,  the  director  of  the  poor  and 
the  almshouse,  to  be  summoned  to 
him. 

A  few  moments  later,  Jordan,  who 
had  been  for  some  days  a  guest  at  the 
castle  of  Charlottenburg,  entered  the 
king's  room.  Frederick  advanced  to 
meet  him,  and  extended  both  hands 
afiectionately.  "  Good-morning,  Jor- 
dan," said  he,  gazing  into  the  wan,  thin 
face  of  his  friend,  with  the  most  earnest 
sympathy.  "I  hope  you  have  had  a 
refreshing  night." 

"  I  have  had  a  charming  night,  for  I 
was  dreaming  of  your  majesty,"  he  re- 
plied, with  a  soft  smile. 

Frederick  sighed,  released  his  hands, 
and  stepped  back  a  few  paces,  "  Your 
majesty  ? "  repeated  he.  "  "Why  do  you 
lay  so  cold  a  hand  upon  that  heart 
which  beats  so  warmly  for  you?  To 
what  purpose  is  this  etiquette?  Are 
we  not  alone  ?  and  can  we  not  accord 
to  our  souls  a  sweet  interchange  of 
thought  and  feeling  without  ceremony  ? 
Do  we  not  understand  and  love  each 
other  ?  Forget,  then,  for  a  while,  dear 
Jordan,  all  these  worldly  distinctions. 
You  see  I  am  still  in  my  morning-dress. 
I  do  not,  like  the  poor  kings  upon  the 
stage,  wear  my  crown  and  sceptre  in 
bed,  or  with  my  night-dress." 

Jordan  gazed  lovingly  and  admirinsr 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


15 


ly  upon  his  great  fiiend.  "  You  need 
no  crown  upon  your  brow  to  show  to 
the  world  that  you  are  a  king  by  the 
grace  of  God.  The  majesty  of  great- 
ness is  written  upon  your  face,  my 
king." 

"That,"  said  Frederick,  with  light 
irony,  "  is  because  we  prioces  and  kings 
are  acknowledged  to  be  the  exact  im- 
age of  the  Creator,  the  everlasting 
Father.  As  for  you,  and  all  the  rest  of 
the  race,  you  dare  not  presume  to  com- 
pare yourselves  with  us.  Probably 
you  are  made  in  the  image  of  the 
second  and  third  persons  of  the  Trinity, 
while  we  carry  upon  our  withered  and 
wearisome  faces  the  quintessence  of  the 
Godhead." 

"  Alas !  alas,  sire,  if  our  pious  priest 
heard  you,  what  a  stumbling-block 
would  he  consider  you !  " 

The  king  smiled.  "Do  you  know, 
Jordan,"  said  he  gravely,  "I  believe 
God  raised  me  up  for  this  special  mis- 
sion to  be  a  rock  of  offence  to  these 
proud  and  worldly  priests,  and  to  tram- 
ple under  foot  their  fooleries  and  their 
arrogance  ?  I  look  upon  that  as  the 
most  important  part  of  my  mission 
upon  earth,  and  I  am  convinced  that  I 
am  appointed  to  humble  this  proud 
church,  the  vain  and  arrogant  work  of 
hypocritical  priests,  and  to  establish  in 
its  place  the  pure  worshij)  of  God." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Jordan,  shrugging 
his  shoulders;  "  if  the  mass  of  men  had 
the  clear  intellect  of  a  Frederick !  if 
their  eyes  were  like  those  of  my  royal 
eagle,  to  whom  it  is  given  to  gaze 
steadfastly  at  the  sun  without  being 
dazzled.  Alas !  sire,  the  most  of  our 
race  resemble  you  so  little  I  They  are 
all  like  the  solemn  night-owls,  who 
draw  a  double  curtain  over  their  eyes, 
lest  the  light  should  blind  them.  The 
church  serves  as  this  double  eyelid  for 
the  night-owls  among  men,  or,  rather, 
the  churches,  for  the  cunning  and  cov- 
etousness  of  those  priests  has  not  been 


satisfied  with  one  church,  but  has  es- 
tablished many." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  king  angrily ;  "  they 
have  sown  dragons'  teeth,  from  which 
bloodthirsty  warriors  have  sprung,  who 
wander  up  and  down,  and  in  mad  am- 
bition tear  aU  mankind,  and  themselves 
included,  to  pieces.  Listen,  Jordan, 
we  have  fallen  upon  a  subject  which, 
as  you  know,  has  interested  and  occu- 
pied me  much  of  late,  and  it  is  precise- 
ly upon  these  points  that  I  have  sought 
your  counsel  to-day.  Be  seated,  then, 
and  hear  what  I  have  to  say  to  you. 
You  know  that  the  pietists  and  priests 
charge  me  with  being  a  heretic,  because 
I  do  not  think  as  they  think,  and  believe 
as  they  believe.  Which  of  them,  think 
you,  Jordan,  has  the  true  faith  ?  What 
is  truth,  and  what  is  wisdom  ?  Each 
sect  believes  itself — and  itself  alone — 
the  possessor  of  both.  That  is  reason 
enough,  it  appears  to  me,  for  doubting 
them  all." 

"  In  the  same  land  ? " 

"  Yes,  in  various  places  in  the  same 
city,  we  are  taught  entirely  different 
doctrines  in  the  name  of  religion.  On 
one  hand,  we  are  threatened  with  ever- 
lasting fire  in  the  company  of  the  devil 
and  his  angels,  if  we  believe  that  the 
Almighty  is  bodily  present  in  the  ele- 
ments offered  at  the  sacrament  of  the 
Lord's  supper.  On  the  other  hand,  we 
are  taught  with  equal  assurance,  that 
the  same  terrible  punishment  will  be 
awarded  us  unless  we  believe  that  God 
is  literally,  and  not  symbolically,  pres- 
ent in  the  bread  and  wine.  The  sim- 
ple statement  of  the  doctrines  of  the 
different  churches  in  the  world  would 
fill  an  endless  number  of  folios.  Each 
religion  condemns  all  others,  as  leading 
to  perdition ;  they  cannot,  therefore,  all 
be  true,  for  truth  does  not  contradict 
itself.  If  any  one  of  these  were  the 
true  faith,  woiild  not  God  have  made 
it  clear,  and  without  question,  to  our 
eyes?    God,  who  is  truth,  cannot  be 


16 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


dark  or  doubtful !  If  these  differences 
in  religion  related  only  to  outward  forms 
and  ceremonies,  we  would  let  them  pass 
as  agreeable  and  innocent  changes,  even 
as  we  adopt  contentedly  the  changes 
in  style  and  fashion  of  our  clothing. 
The  doctrines  of  faith,  as  taught  in 
England,  cannot  be  made  to  harmonize 
with  those  fulminated  at  Rome.  He  to 
whom  it  would  be  given  to  reconcile 
all  opposing  doctrines,  and  to  unite  all 
hearts  in  one  pure  and  simple  faith, 
would  indeed  give  peace  to  the  world, 
and  be  a  Messiah  and  a  Saviour." 

"Yes,  he  would  accomplish  what 
God  himself,  as  it  appears,  has  not 
thought  proper  to  do ;  his  first  great 
act  must  be  to  institute  and  carry  out 
a  terrible  massacre,  in  which  every 
priest  of  every  existing  religion  must 
be  pursued  to  the  death." 

"  And  that  is  precisely  my  mission," 
Baid  the  king.  "  I  will  institute  a  mas- 
sacre, not  bodily  and  bloodily,  but  soul- 
piercing  and  purifying.  I  say  to  you, 
Jordan,  God  dwells  not  in  the  churches 
of  these  imperious  priests,  who  choose 
to  call  themselves  the  servants  of 
God.  God  was  with  Moses  on  Mount 
Sinai,  and  with  Zoroaster  in  the  wilder- 
ness; he  was  by  Dante's  side  as  he 
wrote  his  '  Divina  Commedia,'  and  he 
piloted  the  ships  of  Columbus  as  he 
went  out  bravely  to  seek  a  new  world ! 
God  is  everywhere,  and  that  mankind 
should  reverence  and  believe  in  and 
worship  him,  is  proved  by  their  bear- 
ing his  image  and  their  high  calling." 

Jordan  seized  the  hand  of  the  king 
and  pressed  it  enthusiastically  to  his 
tips.  "And  the  world  says  that  you 
do  not  believe  in  God,"  he  exclaimed ; 
"  they  class  you  with  the  unbelievers, 
and  dare  to  preach  against  you,  and 
slander  you  from  the  pulpit." 

"  Yes,  as  I  do  not  adopt  their  dog- 
mas, I  am,  to  them,  a  heretic,"  said  the 
king,  laughing ;  "  and  when  they  preach 
against  me,  it  proves  that  they  fear  me, 


and  look  upon  me  as  a  powerful  enemy. 
The  enemy  of  the  priests  I  will  be  aa 
long  as  I  live,  that  is  to  say,  of  those 
arrogant  and  imperious  men  who  are 
wise  in  their  own  eyes,  and  despise  all 
who  do  not  agree  with  them  1  I  will 
destroy  the  foundations  of  all  these 
different  churches,  with  their  different 
dogmas.  I  will  utterly  extinguish 
them  by  a  universal  church,  in  which 
every  man  shall  worship  God  after  hia 
own  fashion.  The  worship  of  God 
should  be  the  only  object  of  every 
church  !  All  these  different  doctrines, 
which  they  cast  in  each  other's  teeth, 
and  for  love  of  which  they  close  their 
doors  against  each  other,  shall  be  given 
up.  I  will  open  all  their  churches,  and 
the  fresh,  pure  air  of  God  shall  purify 
the  musty  buildings.  I  will  build  a 
temple,  a  great  illimitable  temple,  a 
second  Pantheon,  a  church  which  shall 
unite  all  churches  witiiin  itself,  in 
which  it  shall  be  granted  to  every  man 
to  have  his  own  altar,  and  adopt  his 
own  religious  exercises.  All  desire  to 
worship  God;  every  man  shall  do  so 
according  to  his  conscience !  Look 
you,  Jordan,  how  pathetically  they 
discourse  of  brotherly  love,  and  they 
tear  each  other  to  pieces !  Let  me  only 
build  my  Pantheon,  and  then  will  all 
men,  in  truth,  become  brothers.  The 
Jew  and  the  so-called  heathen,  the  Mo- 
hammedan and  the  Persian,  the  Calvin- 
ist  and  the  Catholic,  the  Lutheran  and 
the  Reformer — they  will  all  gather  into 
my  Pantheon,  to  worship  God ;  all  their 
forms  and  dogmas  will  simultaneously 
fall  to  the  ground.  They  will  believe 
simply  in  one  God,  and  the  churches 
of  all  these  different  sects  will  soon 
stand  empty  and  in  ruins."  * 

While  the  king  spoke,  his  counte- 
nance was  illumined  ;  a  noble  enthusi- 
asm fired  his  large  clear  eyes,  and  hia 


*  Thi6bault,  In  hU  "  Soavenlrs  de  Vingt  Ani, 
tells  of  Frederick's  plan  for  a  Pantheon. 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


IT 


cheeks  glowed  as  if  from  the  awakening 
breath  of  some  new  internal  light. 

Jordan's  glance  expressed  unspeaka- 
ble love,  but  at  the  same  time  he  looked 
BO  sad,  so  pained,  that  Frederick  felt 
chilled  and  restrained. 

"How,  Jordan  I  you  are  not  of  my 
opinion?"  said  he,  with  surprise. 
"Our  souls,  which  have  been  always 
heretofore  in  union,  are  now  apart. 
You  do  not  approve  of  my  Panthe- 
on?" 

"  It  is  too  exalted,  sire,  to  be  realized. 
Mankind  require  a  form  of  religion,  in 
Drder  not  to  lose  all  personal  control" 

"No,  you  mistake.  They  require 
only  God,  only  love  for  this  exalted  and 
lofty  Being,  whom  we  call  God.  The 
only  proof  by  which  we  can  know  that 
we  can  sincerely  love  God,  lies  in  a 
steadfast  and  strong  purpose  to  obey 
Him.  According  to  this,  we  need  no 
other  religion  than  our  reason,  the 
good  gift  of  God.  So  soon  as  we  know 
that  He  has  spoken,  we  should  be  silent 
and  submissive.  Our  inward  worship 
of  God  should  consist  in  this  that  we 
acknowledge  Him  and  confess  our  sins ; 
our  outward  worship  in  the  perform- 
ance of  all  our  duties,  according  to 
our  reason,  the  exalted  nature  of  God, 
and  our  entire  dependence  upon  Him." 

"  It  is  to  be  regretted,  sire,  that  this 
world  is  not  sufficiently  enlightened  to 
comprehend  you.  I  am  afraid  that 
your  majesty  will  bring  about  exactly 
the  opposite  of  that  which  you  design. 
All  these  religious  sects  which,  as  you 
say,  are  so  entirely  antagonistic,  would 
by  this  forced  union  feel  themselves 
humiliated  and  trampled  upon;  their 
hatred  toward  each  other  would  be 
constantly  augmented  ;  their  antipathies 
would  find  new  food ;  and  their  reli- 
gious zeal,  which  is  always  exclusive, 
would  burn  with  fiercer  fury.  Not 
only  the  priests,  but  kings  and  princes, 
would  look  upon  the  carrying  out  of 
your  plan  with  horror.    And  shall  not 

3 


this  daring  step  bring  terror  into  the 
cabinets  of  kings?  A  monarch,  who 
has  just  drawn  the  eyes  of  all  politi- 
cians upon  himself,  now  proposes  to 
take  charge  of  the  consciences  of  his 
subjects,  and  bow  them  to  his  will ! 
Alas,  how  would  envy,  with  all  her 
poisonous  serpents,  fasten  upon  the 
triumphal  car  of  a  king  who,  by  the 
great  things  he  had  already  achieved, 
had  given  assurance  of  yet  greater  re- 
sults, and  now  stoops  to  tyrannize  over 
and  oppress  the  weak  and  good,  and 
cast  them  among  the  ruhis  of  their 
temiiles  of  worship  to  weep  and  lament 
in  despau" !  No,  my  king,  this  idea  of 
a  Pantheon,  a  universal  house  of  wor- 
ship, can  never  be  realized.  It  was  a 
great  and  sublime  thought,  but  not  a 
wise  one ;  too  great,  too  enlarged  and 
liberal  to  be  a])preciated  by  this  pitiful 
world.  Your  majesty  will  forgive  me 
for  having  spoken  the  honest  truth.  I 
was  forced  to  speak.  Like  my  king,  I 
lo7e  the  one  only  and  true  God,  and 
God  is  truth." 

"  You  have  done  well,  Jordan,"  said 
the  king,  after  a  long  pause,  during 
which  he  raised  his  eyes  thoughtfully 
toward  heaven.  "  Yes,  you  have  dono 
well,  and  I  believe  you  are  right  in 
your  objections  to  my  Pantheon.  1 
offer  up  to  you,  therefore,  my  favorite 
idea.  For  yoiu*  dear  sake,  my  Panthe- 
(m  shall  become  a  ruin.  Let  this  be  a 
proof  of  the  strong  love  I  bear  you, 
Jordan.  I  will  not  contend  with  the 
priests  in  my  church,  but  I  will  pursue 
them  without  faltering  into  their  own ; 
and  I  say  to  you,  this  will  be  a  long 
and  stiff-necked  war,  which  will  last 
while  my  life  endures.  I  will  not  have 
my  people  blinded  and  stupefied  by 
priests.  I  will  suffer  no  other  king  in 
Prussia.  I  alone  will  be  king.  These 
proud  priests  may  decide,  in  silence 
and  humility,  to  teach  their  churches 
and  intercede  for  them ;  but  let  them 
once  attempt  to  play  the  role  of  small 


BERLIN   AND   SANS-SOUC'I;    03, 


popes,  and  to  exalt  themselves  as  the 
only  possessors  of  the  key  to  heaven, 
then  shall  they  find  in  me  an  adversary 
who  ■will  prove  to  them  that  the  key 
is  false  with  which  they  shut  up  the 
Holiest  of  Holies,  and  is  but  used  by 
them  as  a  means  to  rob  the  people  of 
their  worldly  goods.  Light  and  truth 
shall  be  the  device  of  my  whole  land. 
This  will  1  seek  after,  and  by  this  will 
I  govern  Prussia.  I  will  have  no 
blinded  subjects,  no  superstitious,  con- 
science-stno.kcn,  trembling,  priest-rid- 
den slaves.  My  people  shall  learn  to 
think ;  itiought  shall  be  free  as  the 
wanton  air  m  Prussia;  no  censor  or 
police  shall  innit  her  boundary.  The 
thoughts  ol  men  should  be  like  the 
lifo-giviiig  and  beautifying  sun,  all- 
nourishing  and  all-enlightening;  call- 
ing into  existence  and  fructifying,  not 
only  the  rich,  and  rare,  and  lovely,  but 
also  the  noxious  and  poisonous  plant 
and  the  creeping  worm.  These  have 
also  the  right  of  life :  if  left  to  them- 
selves, they  soon  die  of  their  own 
insignificance  or  nothingness — die  un- 
der the  contempt  of  all  the  good  and 
great" 

"  I  fear,"  said  Jordan,  "  that  Freder- 
ick the  Great  is  the  only  man  whose 
mind  is  so  liberal  and  so  unprejudiced. 
Bdieve  me,  my  king,  there  is  no  living 
.-.jvereign  in  Europe  who  dares  guaran- 
tee to  his  subjects  free  thought  and 
free  speech." 

"I  will  try  so  to  act  as  to  leave  noth- 
ing to  fear  frotii  the  largest  liberty 
of  thought  or  speech,"  said  the  king, 
quietly.  "  Men  may  think  and  say  of 
me  what  they  will — that  troubles  me 
not;  I  will  amuse  myself  with  their 
slanders  and  accusations  of  heresy;  as 
for  theh-  applause — well,  that  is  a  cheap 
merchandise,  which  I  must  share  with 
every  expert  magician  and  every  popu- 
lar comedian.  The  applause  of  my 
own  conscience,  and  of  my  friends — thy 
applause,  my    Jordan  —  is    alone    of 


value  for  me.  Then,"  said  he,  earnest 'ly, 
almost  solemnly,  "above  all  things,  I 
covet  fame.  My  name  shall  not  pas3 
away  like  a  soft  tone  or  a  sweet  melody. 
I  will  write  it  in  golden  letters  on  the 
tablet  of  history  ;  it  shall  glitter  like  a 
star  in  the  firmament;  when  centuries 
have  passed  away,  my  peoj^le  shall  re- 
member me,  and  shall  say,  '  Frederick 
the  Second  made  Prussia  great,  and 
enlarged  her  borders ;  he  was  a  father 
who  loved  his  people  more  than  he  did 
himself,  and  cheerfully  sacrificed  his 
own  rest  and  comfort  in  their  service  ! 
he  was  a  teacher  who  spoke  to  them 
by  word  of  mouth,  and  gave  liberty  to 
their  souls.'  Oh,  Jordan,  you  must 
stand  by  me  and  help  me  to  reach  this 
great  goal  for  which  I  thirst.  Remain 
with  me,  dear  friend,  remain  ever  by 
my  side,  and  with  thy  love,  thy  con- 
stancy, thy  truth,  and  thy  sincerity, 
help  me  to  establish  what  is  good,  and 
to  punish  the  evil ;  to  acknowledge  and 
promote  what  is  noble,  and  expose  the 
unworthy  to  shame  and  confusion.  Oh, 
Jordan  !  God  has  jierhaps  called  me  to 
be  a  great  king;  remain  by  me,  and 
help  me  to  be  a  good  and  simple-mind- 
ed man." 

He  threw  hiinself  with  impetuosity 
on  Jordan's  breast,  and  clasped  him 
passionately  in  his  arms.  Jordan  re- 
turned the  king's  embrace,  and  silently 
raised  his  moist  eyes  to  heaven.  A 
prayer  to  "  Our  Father  "  spoke  in  that 
eloquent  eye,  a  heart- felt,  glowing 
prayer  for  this  man  now  resting  upon 
his  bosom,  and  who  for  him  was  not 
the  all  -  powerful  and  commanding 
sovereign,  but  the  noble,  loving,  and 
beloved  fricjd,  this  poet  and  philoso- 
pher, before  whose  mighty  genius  his 
whole  soul  bowed  in  wonder  and  admi- 
ration; but  suddenly,  in  this  moment 
of  deep  and  pious  emotion,  a  cold,  an  icy 
chill,  seemed  to  shiver  and  play  like 
the  breath  of  death  over  his  features, 
and  the  hot  blood,  like  liquid  metal 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT   AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


19 


ruslied  madly  through  his  veins;  he 
gave  a  light,  short  cough ;  with  a 
quick,  abrupt  movement,  he  released 
bimsalf  from  the  arms  of  the  king. 
Withdrawing  a  few  steps,  he  turned 
away,  and  pressed  his  handkerchief  to 
his  lips. 

"Jordan,  you  suffer,  you  are  sick," 
said  the  king,  anxiously. 

Jordan  turned  again  to  him ;  his  face 
was  calm,  and  even  gay;  his  eyes 
beamed  with  that  strange,  mysterious, 
and  touching  fire  of  consumption  which 
hides  the  shadow  of  death  under  the 
rosy  lip  and  glowing  cheek ;  and,  less 
cruel  than  all  other  maladies,  leaves  to 
the  soul  its  freshnes.^,  and  to  the  heart 
its  power  to  love  and  hope, 

"Not  so,  sire,"  said  Jordan,  "I  do 
not  suflfjr.  How  can  I  be  otherwise 
than  well  and  happy  iu  your  jjres- 
euce  1 "  As  he  said  this,  he  tried  to 
thrust  his  handkerchief  in  his  pocket. 

The  king  looked  earnestly  at  this 
handkerchief.  "  Jordan,  why  did  you 
press  that  handkerchief  so  hastily  to 
your  lips  ? " 

Jordan  forced  a  smile.  "  "Well,"  said 
he,  "  I  was  obliged,  as  your  majesty  no 
doubt  saw,  to  cough,  and  I  wished  to 
make  this  disagreeable  music  as  soft  as 
possible." 

"  That  was  not  the  reason,"  said 
Frederick ;  and,  stepping  hastily  for- 
ward, he  seized  the  handkerchief. 
*'  Blood  1  it  is  drenched  in  bloo:l,"  said 
he,  in  a  tone  so  full  of  anguish,  that  it 
was  evident  he  recognized  and  feared 
^his  fatal  signal. 

"Well,  yes,  it  is  blood  ;  your  majesty 
sees  I  am  bloodthirsty  !  Unhappily,  I 
do  not  shad  the  blood  of  your  enemies, 
but  my  own,  which  I  would  gladly 
give,  drop  by  drop,  if  I  could  thereby 
save  my  king  one  hour's  suftering  or 
care." 

"  And  yet  you,  Jordan,  are  now  the 
cause  of  my  bitterest  grief.  You  are  ill, 
and  you  conceal  it  from  me.    You  suffer, 


and  force  yourself  to  seem  gay,  and 
hide  your  danger  from  me,  in  place  of 
turning  to  my  physicians  and  demand- 
ing their  counsel  and  aid." 

"Frederick  the  Wise  once  said  to 
me,  'Physicians  are  but  quacks  and 
charlatans,  and  a  man  gives  himself  up 
to  a  tedious  suicide  who  swallows  their 
prescriptions.' " 

"No,  it  was  not  'Frederick  tho 
Wise,'  but  'Frederick  the  Fool,'  who 
uttered  that  folly.  When  the  sun  is 
shining,  Frederick  has  no  fear  of 
ghosts ;  but  at  the  turn  of  midnight, 
he  will  breathe  a  silent  'Father  in 
heaven,'  to  be  protected  from  them. 
We  have  no  use  for  confidence  in  phy- 
sicians when  we  are  healthy ;  when  we 
are  ill  we  need  them,  and  then  we  bo- 
gin  to  hold  them  iu  consideration. 
You  ai'c  ill,  your  breast  suffers.  I  en- 
treat you,  Jordan,  to  call  upon  my  phy- 
sician, and  to  follow  his  advice  prompt- 
ly and  systematically.  I  demand  this 
as  a  proof  of  your  friendship." 

"  I  will  obey  your  majesty,  immedi- 
ately," said  Jordan,  who  now  found 
himself  completely  overcome  by  the 
weakness  which  follows  loss  of  blood ; 
trembling,  and  almost  sinking,  he 
leaned  upon  the  table.  Frederick  per- 
ceived this,  and  rolling  forward  his 
own  arm-chair,  with  loving  and  tender 
care,  he  placed  Jordan  within  it.  He 
called  his  servant,  and  ordered  him  to 
roll  the  chau-  to  Jordan's  room,  and  go 
instantly  for  the  physician  Ellertt. 

"  It  will  be  all  in  vain,  and  I  shall 
lose  him,"  murmm'ed  the  king.  "Yes, 
I  will  lose  him,  as  I  have  lost  Suhm, 
aud  as  I  shall  soon  lose  my  Caesarius, 
the  good  Kaiserling.  Alas!  why  di<i 
God  give  me  so  warm  a  heart  for  friend- 
ship, and  then  deprive  me  of  my 
friends  ? " 

Folding  his  arms,  he  stepped  to  tho 
window  and  gazed  thoughtfully  and 
sadly  into  the  garden  below,  but  he  saw 
not  its  bloom  and  beauty;    his  eyes 


20 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


were  turned  inward,  and  he  saw  only 
the  grave  of  his  friend.  Suddenly 
rousing  and  conquering  himself,  he 
Bhook  off  the  weary  spirit  of  melan- 
choly, and  sought  comfort  in  his  flute, 
the  faithful  companion  of  all  his  sufler- 
ings  and  struggles. 


CHAPTER  rV. 

THE  PAHDOXED  COTJBTrEIl. 

Fredeuick  commenced  again  to  play, 
but  this  time  it  was  not  an  adagio,  but 
a  joyous  and  triumphant  allegro,  with 
which  he  sought  to  dispel  the  melan- 
choly and  quench  the  tears  flowing  in 
his  troubled  heart.  He  walked  back- 
ward and  forward  in  his  room,  and 
from  time  to  time  stood  before  the  sdfa 
upon  which  his  graceful  greyhound, 
Biche,  was  quietly  resting.  Every  time 
the  king  passed  her  sofa,  Biche  raised 
her  beautiful  head  and  greeted  her  roy- 
al friend  with  an  intelligent  and  friend- 
ly glance  and  a  gentle  wagging  of  her 
tail,  and  this  salutation  was  returned 
each  time  by  Frederick  before  he 
passed  on.  Finally,  and  still  playing 
the  flute,  the  king  pressed  his  foot  upon 
a  silver  button  in  the  floor  of  his  room, 
and  rang  a  bell  which  himg  in  Freders- 
dorf's  room,  immediately  under  his 
own. 

A  few  moments  later  the  secretary 
entered,  but  stood  quietly  at  the  door 
till  the  king  had  finished  his  allegro 
and  laid  aside  his  flute. 

"Good-morning,"  said  tlie  king,  and 
he  looked  up  at  his  favorite  with  so 
sharp  and  piercing  a  glance  that  Fre- 
dersdorf  involuntarily  trembled,  and 
cast  his  eyes  to  the  ground.  '*  You 
must  have  been  long  wide  awake,  you 
answer  the  bell  so  quickly." 

"  Yes,  your  majesty,  I  have  been  long 
awake.  I  am  happy,  for  I  have  good 
news  to  bring  you." 


"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  "  said  the  king, 
smiling.  "Has  my  god-mother,  the 
Empress  Maria  Theresa,  voluntarily  sur- 
rendered to  the  Emperor  Charles  VH.  ? 
Have  France  and  England  become  rec- 
onciled ?  or — and  that  seems  to  me  the 
most  probable — has  my  private  secre- 
tary mastered  the  mystery  of  gold-mak- 
ing, after  which  he  has  so  long  striven, 
and  for  which  he  so  willingly  offers  up 
the  most  costly  and  solemn  sacrifices  ? " 
The  king  laid  so  peculiar  an  expression 
upon  the  word  sacrifice  that  Freders- 
dorf  wondered  if  he  had  not  listened 
to  his  conversation  with  Joseph,  and 
learned  the  strange  sacrifice  which  they 
now  proposed  to  oficr  up  to  the  devil's 
shrine. 

"  Well,  tell  your  news  quickly,"  said 
the  king.  "  You  see  that  I  am  tortur- 
ing myself  with  the  most  wild  and  in- 
credible suppositions." 

"  Sire,  the  Barbarina  reached  Berlin 
last  night." 

"  Truly,"  said  the  king,  indifferently, 
"  so  we  have  at  last  ravished  ber  from 
Venice,  and  Lord  Stuart  McKenzie." 

"Not  exactly  so,  your  highness. 
Lord  Stuart  McKenzie  arrived  in  Ber- 
lin this  morning." 

Frederick  frowned.  "This  is  also, 
as  it  appears,  a  case  of  true  love,  and 
may  end  in  a  silly  marriage.  I  am  not 
pleased  when  men  or  women  in  my 
service  entertain  serious  thoughts  of 
love  or  marriage;  it  occupies  their 
thoughts  and  interferes  with  the  per- 
formance of  their  duty." 

"Your  majesty  judges  severely," 
murmured  Fredersdorf,  who  knew  full 
well  that  this  remark  was  intended  for 
his  special  benefit. 

"  Well,  this  is  only  my  opinion,  but 
I  act  in  consonance  with  it.  I  allow 
myself  no  such  relaxation.  Have  I 
even  had  a  love  -  afl^air  ?  Perhaps, 
Fredersdorf,  you  believe  my  blood  to 
be  frozen  like  ice  in  my  veins;  that  I 
have  a  heart  of  stone  ;  in  short,  that  J 


FREDERICK  THEJ  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


21 


ceased  to  be  a  man  wlien  I  became  a 
king." 

"  Not  so ;  but  I  believe  your  majesty- 
is  too  great  and  too  exalted  to  find  any 
one  worthy  of  your  love." 

"Folly,  folly,  sheer  folly,  Freders- 
dorf !  When  a  man  loves,  he  does  not 
weigh  himself  in  the  scales  and  find 
out  how  many  pounds  of  worth  he  has; 
he  only  loves,  and  forgets  all  other 
earthly  things.  Now,  for  myself,  I 
dare  not  forget  that  I  am  king,  and 
that  my  time  and  strength  belong  to 
my  people.  My  heart  is  too  tender, 
and  for  this  reason  I  fly  from  love.  So 
should  you  also  flee,  j'ou  also  dare  not 
forget  that  your  life  is  consecrated  to 
your  king.  The  Signora  Barbarina 
shall  not  forget  that  she  is  in  my  ser- 
vice ;  dancing,  and  not  loving,  must 
now  occupy  her  thoughts  and  actions. 
I  will  allow  her  flirtations  and  amours, 
but  a  triie  love  I  absolutely  forbid. 
How  can  she  go  through  with  her  bal- 
lets, her  pirouettes,  and  entre  •  clmta 
gayly  and  gracefully  if  a  passionate 
love  sits  enthroned  within  her  heart  ? 
I  have  promised  the  English  ambassa- 
dor, who  is  the  cousin  of  this  liord 
Stuart  McKenzie,  that  I  will  separate 
these  lovers.  At  this  moment  the 
friendship  of  England  is  of  much  im- 
portance to  me,  and  I  shall  certainly 
keep  my  promise.  "Write  immediately 
to  the  dii'ector  of  police  that  I  com- 
mand him  not  only  to  banish  Lord 
McKenzie  from  Berlin,  but  to  send  him 
under  guard  to  Hamburg,  and  there 
place  liim  upon  an  English  ship  bound 
for  England.  In  twelve  hours  he  must 
leave  Berlin.*  Is  that  your  only  news, 
Fredersdorf  ?" 

*  This  order  was  obeyed.  Lord  McKenzie,  the 
tender  lover  of  the  beautiful  Barbarina,  who  had 
followed  her  from  Venice  to  Berlin,  was  immedi- 
ately, on  his  arrival,  banished  ijom  Prussia  by  the 
»pocial  command  of  the  king,  and  taken  to  Ham- 
burg; from  thence  he  addressed  some  passionate 
ettcrs  to  his  beautiful  beloved,  which  she,  o* 
•ourse,  never  received,  and  which  are  preserved  la 


"  No,  sii-e,"  said  he,  stealing  a  glance 
toward  the  door,  which  at  this  moment 
was  lightly  opened.  "  I  have  another 
novelty  to  announce,  but  I  do  not  know 
whether  it  will  be  acceptable  to  your 
majesty.    Baron  von  PoUnitz — " 

*'  Has  sent  us  the  announcement  of 
his  marriage  ? " 

"  No,  sire,  he  is  not  married." 

At  this  moment,  the  Signora  Biche 
began  to  bay  light  notes  of  welcome, 
nnd  raised  herself  up  fr-om  her  comfort- 
able position  on  the  sofa.  The  king 
did  not  remark  her,  however ;  he  was 
wholly  occupied  with  Fredersdorf, 

"  How !  do  you  say  he  is  not  mar- 
ried?" 

"No,  he  is  not  married,"  said  a 
plaintive  voice  from  behind  the  door, 
"  and  he  prays  your  majesty,  of  your 
great  grace,  to  allow  him  to  dedicate 
his  whole  life  to  his  royal  master,  for 
getting  all  other  men  and  women." 
The  king  turned  and  saw  his  former 
master  of  ceremonies  kneeling  before 
the  door,  and  his  clasped  hands 
stretched  out  imploringly  before  him. 

Frederick  gave  a  hearty  peal  of 
laughter,  while  Biche,  raising  herself 
with  a  joyful  bark,  sprang  toward  the 
kneeling  penitent,  and  capered  playfully 
about  him ;  she  appeared  indeed  to  be 
licking  the  hand  in  which  the  saga- 
cious baron  held  hjosely  a  large  piece 
of  her  favorite  chocolate.  At  first,  the 
king  laughed  heartily;  then,  as  he  re- 
marked how  tenderly  Biche  licked  the 
hand  of  the  baron,  he  shook  his  head 
thoughtfully.  "  I  have  had  a  false  con- 
fidence in  the  true  instinct  of  my  little 
Biche ;  she  seems,  indeed,  to  welcome 
Pollnitz  joyfully ;  while  a  sharp  bite  in 
his  calf  is  the  only  reception  which  his 
wicked  and  faithless  heart  deserves." 

"Happily,  sire,  my  heart  is  not 
lodged  in  my  calves,"  said  Pollnitz. 
"  The  wise  Biche  knows  that  the  heart 


the  royal  archives  at  Berlin. — (Sae  Sotuieide**'* 
"  History  of  Operas.") 


22 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


of  Pollnitz  ig  always  in  the  same  place, 
and  that  love  to  my  king  and  master 
has  alone  brought  me  back  to  Berlin." 

"  Nonsense  !  A  Pohnitz  can  feel  no 
other  love  than  that  which  he  cherishes 
for  his  own  worthy  person,  and  the 
purses  of  all  others.  Let  him  explain 
now,  quickly  and  without  circumlocu- 
tion, if  he  really  wishes  my  pardon, 
w  hy,  after  going  to  Nurnberg  to  marry 
a  bag  of  gold,  containing  a  few  mill- 
ions, he  has  now  returned  to  Berlin," 

"  Sire,  without  circumlocution,  the 
bag  of  gold  would  not  open  for  me, 
and  would  not  scatter  its  treasures  ac- 
cording to  my  necessities  and  desires." 

"  Ah  !  I  comprehend.  The  beautiful 
Numberger  had  heard  of  your  rare 
talent  for  scattering  gold,  and  thought 
it  wiser  to  lose  a  baron  of  the  realm 
than  to  lose  her  millions." 

"  Yes,  that's  about  it,  sire." 

"  I  begin  to  have  a  great  respect  for 
the  wisdom  of  this  woman,"  said 
Frederick,  laughing.  "  I  think  she  has 
a  more  reliable  instinct  than  my  poor 
Biche,  who,  I  see,  still  licks  your 
hands." 

"Oh,  Biche  knows  me  better  than 
any  man,"  said  Pollnitz,  tenderly  pat- 
ting the  greyhound.  "  Biche  knows 
that  my  heart  is  filled  with  but  one 
love — love  to  my  king  and  master. 
She  knows  that  I  have  returned  to  lay 
myself,  as  she  docs,  in  all  humility  and 
self-abandonment,  at  the  feet  of  my 
royal  Frederick,  to  receive  either  kicks 
or  favors,  as  he  may  see  fit  to  bestow 
them;  to  be  equally  grateful  for  the 
bones  he  may  throw  to  me  in  his  pity, 
as  for  the  costly  viands  he  may  grant 
in  the  magnanimity  of  his  great  soul." 

''  You  are  an  absolute  and  unqualified 
fool,"  said  the  king,  laughing,  "  and  if 
it  was  not  against  my  conscience,  and 
unworthy  of  human  nature,  to  engage 
a  man  as  a  perpetual  buflbon,  I  would 
promote  you  to  the  oflSce  of  court  fool. 
You  might,  at  least,  serve  as  an  exam- 


ple to  my  cavaliers,  by  teaching  them 
what  they  ought  to  avoid." 

"  I  have  merited  this  cruel  contempt, 
this  painful  punishment  from  my  royal 
master,"  said  Pollnitz.  "I  submit  si- 
lently. I  will  not,  for  a  moment,  seek 
to  justify  myself" 

"  You  do  well  in  that.  You  can 
make  no  defence.  You  left  my  service 
faithlessly  and  heartlessly,  Avitli  the 
hope  of  marrying  a  fortune.  The  mar- 
riage failed,  and  you  come  back  with 
falsehood  in  your  heart  and  on  your 
lips,  chattering  about  your  love  for  my 
royal  house.  You  are  not  ashamed  to 
liken  yourself  to  a  hound,  and  to  howl 
even  as  they  do,  in  order  that  I  may 
take  you  back  into  favor.  Do  not  sup- 
pose, for  one  moment,  that  I  am 
deceived  by  these  professions — if  you 
could  have  done  better  for  yourself 
elsewhere,  you  would  not  have  returned 
to  Berlin  ;  that  not  being  the  case,  you 
creep  back,  and  vow  that  love  only  has 
constrained  you.  Look  you,  Pollnitz, 
I  know  you,  I  know  you  fully.  You 
can  never  deceive  me ;  and,  most 
assuredly,  I  would  not  receive  you 
again  into  my  service,  if  I  did  not  look 
upon  you  as  an  old  inventory  of  my 
housfc,  an  inheritance  of  my  grandfa- 
ther Frederick.  I  receive  yon,  there- 
fore, out  of  consideration  for  the  dead 
kings  in  whose  service  you  were,  and 
who  amused  themselves  with  your 
follies ;  for  their  sakcs  I  cannot  allow 
you  to  hunger.  Think  not  that  I  will 
prepare  you  a  bed  of  down,  and  give 
you  gold  to  waste  in  idleness.  You 
must  work  for  your  living  even  as  we 
all  do.  I  grant  you  a  pension,  but  you 
will  perform  your  old  duty,  as  grand 
master  of  ceremonies.  You  understand 
such  nonsense  better  than  I  do.  You 
were  educated  in  a  good  school,  and 
studied  etiquette  from  the  foundation 
stone,  under  Prussia's  first  king ;  and 
that  you  may  not  say  we  have  over- 
looked your  great  worth,  I  will  lay  yet 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


23 


another  burden  upon  your  shoulders, 
and  make  you  '  master  of  the  wardrobe.' 
It  shall  not  be  said  of  us,  that  nonsense 
and  folly  are  neglected  at  our  court ; 
even  these  shall  have  their  tribute. 
You  shall  therefore  be  called  '  Master 
of  the  Robes,'  but  I  counsel  you,  yes,  I 
warn  you,  never  to  interfere  with  my 
coats  and  shirts.  You  shall  have  no 
opportunity  to  make  a  gold  -  embroid- 
ered monkey  of  me.  Etiquette  requires 
that  I  must  have  a  master  of  the  robes, 
but  I  warn  you  to  interest  yourself  in 
all  other  things  rather  than  in  my  toi- 
let." 

"  All  that  your  majesty  condescends 
to  say,  is  written  in  letters  of  flame 
upon  my  heart." 

"  I  would  rather  suppose  upon  your 
knees;  they  must  indeed  burn  from 
this  long  penance.  I  have  read  you  a 
lecture,  a  la  fa(on  of  a  village  school- 
master. You  can  rise — the  lecture  is 
over." 

PoUnitz  rose  from  his  knees,  and, 
straightening  himself,  advanced  before 
the  king,  and  made  one  of  those  low, 
artistic  bows,  which  he  understood  to 
perfection.  "  When  does  your  majesty 
wish  that  I  should  enter  upon  my  du- 
ties ? " 

"  To-day  —  at  this  moment.  Count 
Tessin,  a  special  ambassador  from 
Sweden,  has  just  arrived.  I  wish  to 
give  him  a  courtly  reception.  You 
will  make  the  necessary  arrange- 
ments. Enter  at  once  upon  the  dis- 
charge of  your  functions." 

"  I  suppose,  sire,  that  my  salary  also 
commences  so  soon  as  I  begin  the  dis- 
charge of  my  duties  ? " 

"  I  said  nothing  about  a  salary.  I 
promised  you  a  pension;  and,  not 
wishing  to  maintain  you  in  absolute 
idleness,  I  laid  upon  you  these  absurd 
and  trifling  duties." 

"  Shall  I  not,  then,  receive  two  pen- 
sions, if  I  discharge  the  two  functions  ? " 
said  PoUnitz,  in  a  low  voice. 


"  You  are  an  out-and-out  scoundrel,' 
said  Frederick,  "  but  I  know  all  youi 
tricks.  I  shall  not  follow  my  father's 
example,  who  once  asked  you  how  much 
it  required  to  maintain  worthily  a  cava- 
lier of  rank,  and  you  assured  him  that 
a  hundred  thousand  thalers  was  not 
sutficient.  I  grant  you  a  pension  of 
tw^o  thousand  thalers,  and  I  tell  you  it 
must  suffice  to  suppait  you  creditably. 
Woe  to  you,  when  you  commence 
again  your  former  most  contemptible 
and  miserable  life !  woe  to  you,  when  you 
again  forget  to  distinguish  between  your 
own  money  and  the  money  of  others  I 
I  assiu-e  you  that  I  will  never  again 
pay  one  of  your  debts.  And  in  order 
that  credulous  men  may  not  be  so  silly 
as  to  lend  you  money,  I  will  make  my 
wishes  known  by  a  printed  order,  and 
impose  a  tax  of  fifty  thalers  upon  every 
man  silly  and  bold  enough  to  lend  you 
money.  Are  you  content  with  this, 
and  will  you  enter  my  service  upon  these 
terms  ? " 

"  Yes,  on  any  conditions  which  youi 
majesty  shall  please  to  lay  upon  me. 
But  when,  in  spite  of  this  open  declara- 
tion of  your  majesty,  crazy  people  will 
still  insist  upon  lending  me  money,  you 
will  admit,  sire,  in  short,  that  it  is  not  my 
debt,  and  I  cannot  be  called  upon  for 
payment." 

"I  will  take  such  precautions  tliat 
no  one  will  be  foolish  enough  to  lend 
you  money.  I  will  have  it  publicly 
announced,  that  he  who  lends  you  mon- 
ey shall  have  no  claim  upon  you,  so  that 
to  lend  you  gold  is  to  give  you  gold, 
and  truly  in  such  a  way  as  to  spare  you 
even  the  trouble  of  thanks.  I  will 
have  this  trumpeted  through  evei-y 
street.     Are  you  still  content  ? " 

"  Oh,  sire,  you  show  me  in  this  the 
greatest  earthly  kindness;  you  make 
me  completely  irresponsible.  Woe  to 
the  fools  and  lunatics  who  are  mad 
enough  to  lend  me  money !  From  this 
1  time  onward,  I  shall  never  know    a 


24 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


weary  or  listless  moment.  I  shall 
have  always  the  cheering  and  inspiring 
occupation  of  winning  the  hearts  of 
trusting  and  weak-minded  dunces,  and, 
by  adroit  sleight-of-hand,  transferring 
the  gold  from  their  pockets  to  my 
own," 

"You  are  incorrigible,"  said  the  king. 
"I  doubt  if  all  mankind  are  made  after 
the  image  of  God,  I  think  many  of  the 
race  resemble  the  devil,  and  I  look 
upon  you,  Pollnitz,  as  a  tolerably  suc- 
cessful portrait  of  his  satanic  majesty, 
I  don't  suppose  you  will  be  much  dis- 
composed by  this  opinion,  I  imagine 
you  look  upon  God  and  the  devil  in 
very  much  the  same  light." 

"  Oh,  not  so,  your  majesty ;  I  am  far 
too  religious  to  fall  into  such  errors," 

"  Yes,  you  are  too  religious ;  or, 
rather,  you  have  too  many  religions.  To 
which,  for  example,  do  you  now  pro- 
fess to  belong  ? " 

"  Sire,  I  have  become  a  Protestant," 

**  From  conviction  ?  " 

"  So  long  as  I  believed  in  the  possi- 
bility of  marrying  several  millions — yes, 
from  conviction.  These  millions  would 
have  made  me  happy,  and  surely  I 
might  allow  myself  to  become  a  Protes- 
tant in  order  to  be  happy." 

"  Once  for  all,  how  many  times  have 
you  changed  your  religion  ? "  said  the 
king,  thoughtfully, 

"  Oh,  not  very  often,  sire !  I  am  for- 
ever zealously  seeking  after  the  true 
faith,  and  so  long  as  I  do  not  find  that 
religion  which  makes  me  content  with 
such  things  as  I  have,  I  am  forced 
to  change  in  justice  to  myself.  In  my 
childhood  I  was  baptized  and  brought 
up  a  Lutheran,  and  I  had  nothing 
igainst  it,  and  remained  in  that  com- 
munion till  I  went  to  Rome ;  there  I 
saw  the  Holy  Father,  the  Pope,  perform 
mass,  and  the  solemn  ceremony  roused 
my  devotional  feelings  to  such  a  height 
that  I  became  a  Catiiolic  immediately. 
This  was,  however,  no  change  of  reli- 


gion. Up  to  this  time  I  had  not  acted 
for  myself;  so  the  Catholic  may  be 
justly  called  my  first  faith." 

"  Yes,  yes  I  that  was  about  the  time 
you  stole  your  dying  bride's  diamonds 
and  fled  from  France." 

"  Oh,  your  majesty,  that  is  a  wicked 
invention  of  my  enemies,  and  utterly 
unfounded.  If  I  had  really  stolen  and 
sold  those  magnificent  brilliants — worth 
haif  a  million — from  my  dying  love,  it 
would  have  been  sufficient  to  assure  me 
a  luxurious  life,  and  I  should  not  have 
found  it  imperative  to  become  a  Cath- 
olic." 

"  Ah,  you  confess,  then,  that  you  did 
not  become  a  Catholic  from  conviction, 
but  in  order  to  obtain  the  favor  of  the 
cardinals  and  the  Pope  ? " 

"  Nothing  escapes  the  quick  eye  of 
your  majesty,  so  I  will  not  dare  to  de- 
fend myself.  I  came  back  to  Berlin, 
then,  a  Catholic,  and  the  ever-blessed 
king  received  me  graciously.  He  was  a 
noble  and  a  pious  man,  and  my  soul 
was  seized  with  a  glowing  desire  to 
imitate  him.  I  saw,  indeed,  how  little 
I  had  advanced  on  the  path  to  glory  by 
becoming  a  Catholic !  I  made  a  bold 
resolve,  and  entered  the  Reformed 
Church." 

"And  by  this  adroit  move  you  ob- 
tained your  object :  you  became  the  fa- 
vorite of  my  father  the  king.  As  he, 
unhappily,  can  show  you  no  further  fa- 
vor, it  is  no  longer  prudent  to  be  a  re- 
former, so  you  are  again  a  Lutheran — ■ 
from  conviction  !  " 

"  Oh,  all  the  world  knows  the  great, 
exalted,  and  unprejudiced  mind  of  our 
young  king,"  said  Pollnitz.  "  It  is  to 
him  a  matter  of  supreme  indift'erence 
what  religious  sect  a  man  belongs  to,  so 
he  adopts  that  faith  which  makes  him 
a  brave,  reliable  and  serviceable  subject 
of  his  king  and  his  fatherland." 

Frederick  cast  a  dark  and  contempt- 
uous glance  at  him.  "  You  are  a  mis 
erable  mocker  and  despiser  of  all  hoh 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


25 


things ;  you  belong  to  that  large  class 
who,  not  from  convictions  of  reason, 
but  from  worldly-mindedness  and  licen- 
tiousness, do  not  believe  in  the  Chris- 
tian religion.  Such  men  can  never  be 
honest ;  they  have  perhaps  from  their 
childhood  been  preached  to,  not  to  do 
evil  from  fear  of  hell-lire ;  and  so  soon 
as  they  cease  to  believe  in  hell-fire,  they 
give  themselves  up  to  vice  without  re- 
morse. You  are  one  of  these  most  mis- 
erable wretches ;  and  I  say  to  you,  that 
you  will  at  last  suffer  the  torments  of 
the  damned.  I  know  there  is  a  hell- 
fii-e,  but  it  can  only  be  found  in  a  man's 
conscience  !  Now  go  and  enter  at  once 
upon  your  duties ;  in  two  hom's  I  will 
receive  Count  Tessin  in  the  palace  at 
Berlin." 

PoUnitz  made  the  three  customary 
bows  and  left  the  room.  The  king 
gazed  after  him  contemptuously.  "  He 
is  a  finished  scoundrel  I  "  Then  tm-n- 
ing  to  Fredersdorf,  who  at  that  moment 
entered  the  room,  he  said:  "I  believe 
Pollnitz  would  sell  his  mother  if  he 
was  in  want  of  money.  You  have 
brought  me  back  a  chai'ming  fellow ;  I 
rejoice  that  there  are  no  more  of  the 
race ;  PoUuitz  has  at  least  the  fame  of 
being  alone  in  his  style.  Is  there  any 
one  else  who  asks  an  audience  ? " 

"Yes,  sire,  the  antechamber  is  full, 
and  every  man  declares  that  his  com- 
plaint can  only  be  made  personally 
to  your  majesty.  It  will  require  much 
time  to  listen  to  all  the?e  men,  and 
would  be,  besides,  a  bad  example. 
If  your  majesty  receives  fifty  men  to- 
day, a  hundred  will  demand  audience 
to-morrow  ;  they  must  therefore  be  put 
aside  :  I  have  advised  them  all  to  make 
their  wishes  known  in  writing." 

"  Well,  I  think  every  man  knows  that 
^  the  common  mode  of  proceeding ;  as 
these  people  have  not  adopted  it,  it  is 
evident  they  prefer  speaking  to  me. 
There  are  many  things  which  can  be 
better  said  than  written,    A  king  has 


no  right  to  close  his  ear  to  his  subjects. 
A  ruler  should  not  resemble  a  framed 
and  curtained  picture  of  a  god,  only  on 
rare  and  solemn  occasions  to  be  stared 
and  wondered  at;  he  must  be  to  his 
people  what  the  domestic  altar  and  the 
household  god  was  to  the  Romans,  to 
which  they  drew  near  at  all  hours  with 
consecrated  hearts  and  pious  memories. 
Here  they  made  known  all  their  cai'ea, 
theii*  soiTows,  and  their  joys ;  here  they 
found  comfort  and  jjeaoe.  I  will  never 
withdraw  myself  from  my  subjects ;  no, 
I  will  be  the  household  god  of  my  peo- 
ple, and  will  lend  a  willing  ear  to  all 
their  prayers  and  complaints.  Turn  no 
man  away,  Fredersdorf ;  I  will  announce 
it  publicly,  that  every  man  has  the  right 
to  appeal  to  me  personally." 

"My  king  is  great  and  good,"  said 
Fredersdorf,  sadly ;  "  every  man  but 
myself  can  offer  his  petition  to  your 
majesty  and  hope  for  grace ;  the  king's 
ear  is  closed  only  to  me ;  to  my  en- 
treaties he  will  not  listen." 

"Fredersdorf,  you  complain  that  I 
will  not  give  my  consent  to  your  mar- 
riage. What  would  you  ?  I  love  you 
too  well  to  give  you  up ;  but  when  you 
take  a  wife,  you  will  be  forever  lost  to 
me.  A  man  cannot  serve  two  masters, 
and  I  will  not  divide  your  heart  with 
this  Mademoiselle  Daum;  you  must 
give  it  to  me  entire  1  Do  not  call  me 
cruel,  Fredersdorf;  believe  that  I  love 
you  and  cannot  give  you  up." 

"  Oh,  sire,  I  shall  only  truly  belong  to 
you  in  love  and  gratitude,  when  you 
permit  me  to  be  happy  and  wed  the 
maiden  I  so  fondly  love." 

"I  will  have  no  married  private  sec- 
retary, nor  will  I  have  a  married  secre- 
tary of  state,"  said  the  king,  with  a 
dark  frown.  "  Say  not  another  word, 
Fredersdorf;  put  these  thoughts  away 
from  you !  My  God,  there  are  so  many 
other  things  on  which  you  could  have 
set  your  heart !  why  must  it  be  ever  on 
a  woman?" 


26 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SODCI;    OR, 


"Because  I  love  her  passionately, 
your  majesty," 

"All,  ball!  do  you  not  love  other 
thhigs  with  which  you  can  console 
yourself?  You  are  a  scholar  and  an  al- 
chemist. Well,  then,  read  Horace;  ex- 
ercise yourself  in  the  art  of  making 
gold,  and  forget  this  Mademoiselle 
Daum,  who,  be  it  said,  in  confidence 
between  us,  has  no  other  fascination 
than  that  she  is  rich.  As  to  her  Avealth, 
that  can  have  but  little  charm  for  you, 
who,  without  doubt,  will  soon  liave  con- 
trol of  all  the  treasures  of  the  world. 
By  God's  help,  or  the  devil's,  you  will 
very  soon,  I  suppose,  discover  the  secret 
of  making  gold." 

"He  has,  indeed,  heard  my  conversa- 
tion with  Josejih,"  said  Fredersdorf  to 
himself,  and,  ashamed  and  confused,  he 
cast  liis  eyes  down  before  the  laughing 
glance  of  the  king. 

"Read  your  Horace  diligently,"  said 
Frederick — "you  know  he  is  also  my 
favorite  author  ;  you  shall  learn  one  of 
his  beautiful  songs  by  heart,  and  repeat 
It  to  me." 

The  king  walked  up  and  down  the 
room,  and  cast,  from  time  to  time,  a 
piercing  glance  at  Fredersdorf.  He 
then  repeated  from  Horace  these  two 
lines: 


'  Torment  not  your  heart 
With  the  rich  olftring  of  a  bleeding 


lamb.' 


"I  see  well,"  said  Fredersdorf,  com- 
pletely confused,  "  I  see  well  that  your 
majesty  knows — " 

"  That  it  is  high  time,"  said  the  king, 
interrupting  him,  "  to  go  to  Berlin;  you 
do  well  to  remind  me  of  it.  Order 
my  carriage — I  will  be  off  at  once," 


CHAPTER  "V". 

HOW   THE   PUINCESS  ULRICA   BECAME 
QUEEN   OP   SWEDEN. 

Princess  Ulrica,  the  oldest  of  the 
two  unmaiTied  sisters  of  the  king, 
l^aced  her  room  with  passionate  steps. 
The  king  had  just  made  the  queen- 
mother  a  visit,  and  had  commanded 
that  his  two  sisters  should  be  present  at 
the  interview. 

Frederick  Avas  gay  and  tallcative. 
He  told  them  that  the  Signora  Barba- 
rina  had  arrived,  and  would  appear  that 
evening  at  the  castle  theatre.  He  in- 
vited his  mother  and  the  two  princesses 
to  be  present.  He  requested  them  to 
make  tasteful  and  becoming  toilets,  and 
to  be  bright  and  amiable  at  the  ball 
and  supper  after  the  theatre.  The  king 
implored  them  both  to  be  gay :  the  one, 
in  order  to  show  that  she  was  neither 
angry  nor  jealous;  the  other,  that  she 
was  proud  and  hajjpy. 

The  curiosity  of  the  two  young  girla 
was  much  excited,  and  they  urged  the 
king  to  explain  his  mysterious  words. 
He  mformed  them  that  Count  Tessin, 
the  Swedish  ambassador,  would  be 
present  at  the  ball;  that  he  was  sent 
to  Berlin  to  select  a  wife  for  the  prince 
royal  of  Sweden,  oi*,  rather,  to  receive 
one  ;  tlie  choice,  it  api^eared,  had  been 
already  made,  as  the  count  had  asked 
the  king  if  he  might  make  proposals 
for  the  hand  of  the  Princess  Amelia,  or 
if  she  w^ere  already  promised  in  mar- 
riage. The  king  replied  that  Amelia 
was  bound  by  no  contract  and  that 
proposals  from  Sweden  would  be  gra- 
ciously received. 

"  Be,  therefore  lovely  and  attractive," 
said  the  king,  placing  his  hand  caress- 
ingly upon  the  rosy  cheek  of  his  little 
sister ;  "  prove  to  the  count  that  the  in- 
tellectual brow  of  my  sweet  sister  is 
fitted  to  wear  a  crown  worthily." 

The  queen-mother  glanced   toward 


FKEDEJJICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


27 


,be  window  into  which  the  Princes3 
Ulrica  had  hastily  withdrawn. 

"And  will  your  majesty  really  con- 
sent that  the  youngest  of  my  daughters 
shall  be  first  married  ? " 

The  king  followed  the  glance  of  his 
mother,  and  saw  the  frowning  brow  and 
trembling  lip  of  his  sister.  Frederick 
feared  to  increase  the  mortification  of 
Ulrica,  and  seemed,  therefore,  not  to 
observe  her  withdrawal. 

"  I  think,"  said  he,  "  your  majesty 
wrts  not  older  than  Amelia  when  you 
married  my  father ;  and  if  the  crown 
prince  of  Sweden  wishes  to  marry  Ame- 
lia, I  see  no  reason  why  we  should  re- 
fuse him.  Happily,  we  are  not  Jews, 
and  our  laws  do  not  forbid  the  younger 
sister  to  marry  first.  To  refuse  the 
prince  the  hand  of  Amelia,  or  to  ofl'er 
him  the  hand  of  Ulrica,  would  indicate 
that  we  feared  the  latter  might  remain 
misought.  I  think  my  lovely  and  tal- 
ented sister  does  not  deserve  to  be 
placed  in  such  a  mortifying  position, 
and  that  her  hand  will  be  eagerly 
sought  by  other  royal  wooers." 

"And,  for  myself,  I  am  not  at  all 
anxious  to  marry,"  said  Ulrica,  throw- 
ing her  head  back  proudly,  and  casting 
(t  half-contemptuous,  half-pitiful  look 
at  Amelia.  "  I  have  no  wish  to  marry. 
Truly,  I  have  not  seen  many  happy  ex- 
amples of  wedded  life  in  our  family. 
All  my  sisters  are  unhappy,  and  I  see 
no  reason  wliy  I  should  tread  the  same 
thorny  path." 

The  king  smiled.  "I  see  the  little 
Ulrica  shares  my  aversion  to  wedded 
life,  but  we  cannot  expect,  dearest,  that 
all  the  world  should  be  equally  wise. 
We  will,  therefore,  allow  our  fooUsh 
sister  Amelia  to  wed,  and  run  away 
from  us.  This  marriage  will  cost  her 
anxiety  and  sorrow ;  she  must  not  only 
place  her  little  feet  in  the  land  of  rein- 
deers, bears,  and  eternal  snows,  but  she 
must  also  be  baptized  and  adopt  a  new 
relisfion.    Let  us  thank  God,  then,  that 


the  prince  has  had  the  caprice  to  pass 
you  by  and  choose  Amelia,  who,  I  can 
see,  is  resolved  to  be  married.  We 
will,  therefore,  leave  the  foolish  child 
to  her  fate." 

It  was  Frederick's  intention,  by 
these  light  jests,  to  comfort  his  sister 
Ulrica,  and  give  her  time  to  collect 
herself.  He  did  not  remark  that  his 
words  had  a  most  painful  effect  upon 
his  younger  sister,  and  that  she  became 
deadly  pale  as  he  said  she  must  change 
her  faith  in  order  to  become  princess 
royal  of  Sweden. 

The  proud  queen-mother  had  also  re- 
ceived this  announcement  angrily.  "  I 
think,  sire,"  said  s'.ie,  "  that  the  daugh- 
ter of  William  the  Second,  and  the 
sister  of  the  King  of  Prussia  might  be 
allowed  to  remain  true  to  the  faith  of 
her  fathers." 

"Madame,"  said  the  king,  bowing 
reverentially,  "  the  question  is  not,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  as  to  Amelia's  father  or 
brother ;  she  will  be  the  mother  of  sons, 
who,  according  to  the  law  of  the  land, 
must  be  brought  up  in  the  religion  of 
their  father.  You  see,  then,  that  if 
this  marriage  takes  place,  one  of  the 
two  contracting  parties  must  yield; 
and,  it  appears  to  me,  that  is  the  call- 
ing and  the  duty  of  the  woman." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  queen,  bitterly, 
"  you  have  been  educated  in  too  good 
a  school,  and  are  too  thoroughly  a 
Hohenzollern,  not  to  believe  in  the 
complete  self-renunciation  of  women. 
At  this  court,  women  have  only  to 
obey." 

"Nevertheless,  the  women  do  rule 
over  us ;  and  even  when  we  appear  to 
command,  we  are  submissive  and  obe- 
dient," said  the  king,  as  he  kissed  hia 
mother's  hand  and  withdrew. 

The  three  ladies  also  retired  to  their 
own  rooms  immediately.  Each  one 
was  too  much  occupied  with  her  own 
thoughts  to  bear  the  pressnce  of  an- 
other. 


28 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


And  now,  being  alone,  the  Princess 
Ulrica  found  it  no  longer  necessary  to 
retain  the  smiles  which  she  had  so  long 
and  with  such  mighty  effort  forced  to 
play  upon  her  lips;  every  pulse  was 
beating  with  glowing  rage,  and  she 
gave  free  course  to  her  scorn. 

Her  younger  sister,  this  little  maiden 
of  eighteen  years,  was  to  be  married,  to 
wed  a  future  king ;  while  she,  the  el- 
dest, now  two-and-twenty,  remained 
unchosen!  And  it  was  not  her  own 
disinclination,  or  the  will  of  the  king, 
which  led  to  this  shameful  result;  no  ! 
the  Swedish  ambassador  came  not  to 
seek  her  hand,  but  that  of  her  sister ! 
She,  the  elder,  was  scorned — set  aside. 
The  king  might  truthfully  say  there 
was  no  law  of  the  land  which  forbade 
the  marriage  of  the  younger  sister  be- 
fore the  elder ;  but  there  was  a  law  of 
custom  and  of  propriety,  and  this  law 
was  trampled  upon. 

As  Ulrica  thought  over  these  things, 
she  rose  from  her  seat  with  one  wild 
spring.  On  entering  the  room  she  had 
been  completely  overcome,  and,  with 
trembling  knees,  she  had  fallen  upon  the 
divan.  She  stood  now,  however,  like  a 
tigress  prepared  for  attack,  and  look- 
ing for  the  enemy  she  was  resolved  to 
slay.  The  raging,  stormy  blood  of  the 
Hohenzollems  Avas  aroused.  The  ener- 
gy and  pride  of  her  mother  glowed 
with  feverish  pulses  in  her  bosom.  She 
would  have  been  happy  to  find  an  en- 
emy opposed  to  her,  the  waves  of 
passion  rushing  through  her  veins 
might  then  have  been  assuaged ;  but 
she  was  alone,  entirely  alone,  and  had 
no  other  enemy  to  overcome  than  her- 
self. She  must,  then,  declare  war 
against  her  own  evil  heart.  With  wild 
steps  she  rushed  to  the  glass,  and  scru- 
tinizingly  and  fiercely  examined  her 
own  image.  Her  eye  was  cold,  search- 
ing, and  stern.  Yes,  she  would  prove 
herself;  she  would  know  if  it  were  any 
thing  in  her  outward  appearance  which 


led  the  Swedish  ambassador  to  choose 
her  sister  rather  than  herself. 

"  It  is  true,  Amelia  is  more  beautiful, 
in  the  common  acceptation  of  the  word ; 
her  eyes  are  larger,  her  cheek  rosier, 
her  smile  more  fresh  and  youthful,  and 
her  small  but  graceful  figure  is  at  the 
same  time  childlike  and  voluptuous. 
She  would  make  an  enchanting  shep- 
herdess, but  is  not  fitted  to  be  a  queen. 
She  has  no  majesty,  no  presence.  She 
has  not  by  nature  that  imposing  gravi- 
ty, which  is  the  gift  of  Providence, 
and  cannot  be  acquired,  and  without 
which  the  queen  is  sometimes  forgotten 
in  the  woman.  Amelia  can  never  at- 
tain that  eternal  calm,  that  exalted 
composure,  which  checks  all  approach 
to  familiarity,  and  which,  by  an  almost 
imperceptible  pressure  of  the  hand  and 
a  light  smile,  bestows  more  happiness 
and  a  more  liberal  reward  than  the 
most  impassioned  tenderness  and  the 
warmest  caresses  of  a  commonplace  wo- 
man. No,  Amelia  could  never  make  a 
complete  queen,  she  can  only  be  a  beau- 
tiful woman ;  while  I — I  know  that  I 
am  less  lovely,  but  I  feel  that  I  am  born 
to  rule.  I  have  the  grace  and  figure  of 
a  queen — yes,  I  have  the  soul  of  a 
queen  !  I  would  understand  how  to  be 
imijosing,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  ob- 
taui  the  love  of  my  people,  not  from 
any  weak  thirst  for  love,  but  from  a 
queenly  ambition.  But  I  am  set  aside, 
and  Amelia  v.^ill  be  a  queen;  my  fate 
will  be  that  of  my  elder  sisters,  I  shall 
wed  a  poor  margrave,  or  paltry  duke, 
and  may  indeed  thank  God  if  I  am  not 
an  old  maiden  princess,  with  a  small 
pension." 

She  stamped  wildly  upon  the  floor, 
and  paced  the  room  with  hasty  steps 
Suddenly  she  grew  calmer ;  her  brow 
which  had  been  overshadowed  by  darh 
clouds,  cleared,  and  a  faint  smile  played 
upon  those  lips  which  a  moment  before 
had  been  compressed  by  passion. 

"  After  all,"  she  said.  "  the  forma) 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


29 


demand  for  the  hand  of  Amelia  has 
not  yet  been  made;  perhaps  the  am- 
bassador has  mistaken  my  name  for 
that  of  Amelia,  and  as  he  has  made  no 
direct  proposition,  I  am  convinced  he 
wishes  to  make  some  observations  be- 
fore deciding.  Now,  if  the  result  of 
this  examination  should  prove  to  him 
that  Amelia  is  not  fitted  to  be  the  wife 
of  his  prince,  and  if  Amelia  herself — I 
thought  I  saw  that  she  turned  pale  as  the 
king  spoke  of  abandoning  her  faith ; 
and  when  she  left  the  room,  despair 
and  misery  were  written  upon  that  face 
which  should  have  glowed  with  pride 
and  triumph.  Ah,  I  see  land ! "  said 
Ulrica,  breathing  freely  and  sinking 
comfortably  upon  the  divan,  "  I  am  no 
longer  hopelessly  shipwrecked ;  I  have 
found  a  plank,  which  may  perhaps  save 
me.  Let  me  consider  calmly," — and, 
as  if  Fate  itself  were  playing  into  her 
hand,  the  door  opened  and  Amelia  en- 
tered. 

One  glance  was  sufficient  to  show  to 
Ulrica  that  she  was  not  deceived,  and 
that  this  important  event  had  brought 
no  joy  to  poor  Amelia.  The  lovely  eyes 
of  the  princess  were  red  with  weeping ; 
ind  the  soft  lips,  so  generally  and  gladly 
given  to  gay  chat  and  merry  laughter, 
were  now  expressive  of  silent  anguish. 
Ulrica  saw  all  this,  and  laid  her  plans 
accordingly.  In  place  of  receiving 
Amelia  coldly  and  repulsively,  which 
but  a  few  mom3nt3  before  she  would 
have  done,  she  sprang  to  meet  her  with 
every  sign  of  heart-felt  love  ;  the  little 
maiden  threw  herself  weeping  convul- 
sively into  her  sister's  arms,  and  was 
pressed  closely  and  tenderly  to  her  bo- 
som. 

"  Tears ! "  said  Ulrica,  lovingly,  as  she 
drew  her  sister  to  the  sofa  and  pressed 
her  down  upon  the  soft  pillows ;  "  you 
weep,  and  yet  a  splendid  future  is  this 
lay  secured  to  you ! " 

Amelia  sobbed  yet  more  loudly,  and 
pressed  her  tear-stained  face  more  close- 


ly to  the  bosom  of  her  sister.  Ulrica 
looked  down  with  a  mixture  of  curios- 
ity and  triumph  ;  she  could  not  under- 
stand these  tears ;  but  she  had  a  secret 
satisfaction  in  seeing  the  person  she 
most  envied  weeping  so  bitterly. 

"  How  is  this  ?  are  you  not  happy  to 
be  a  queen  ?  " 

Amelia  raised  her  face  hastily  and 
sobbed  out :  "  No !  I  am  not  pleased  to 
be  an  apostate,  to  perjure  myself!  I 
am  not  content  to  deny  my  faith,  in 
order  to  buy  a  miserable  earthly  crown ! 
I  have  sworn  to  be  true  to  my  God  and 
my  faith,  and  now  I  am  commanded  to 
lay  it  aside  like  a  perishable  robe,  and 
take  another  in  exchange." 

"  Ah,  is  it  that  ? "  said  "Ulrica,  with  a 
tone  of  contempt  she  could  scarcely  con- 
trol ;  "  you  fear  this  bold  step  by  which 
your  poor  innocent  soul  may  be  com- 
promised." 

"  I  will  remain  true  to  the  belief  in 
which  I  have  been  educated,  and  to 
which  I  have  dedicated  myself  at  the 
altar!"  cried  Amelia,  bursting  agaiii 
into  tears. 

"  It  is  easy  to  see  that  but  a  short 
time  only  has  elapsed  since  you  took 
these  vows  upon  you.  You  have  all 
the  fanaticism  of  a  new  convert.  How 
would  our  blessed  father  rejoice  if  he 
could  see  you  now ! " 

"  He  would  not  force  me  to  deny  my 
religion ;  he  would  not,  for  the  sake  of 
outward  splendor,  endanger  my  soul's 
salvation.  Oh  I  it  is  harsh  and  cruel 
of  my  brother  to  treat  me  as  a  piece  of 
merchandise ;  he  asks  not  whether  my 
heart  or  principles  can  conscientiously 
take  part  in  his  ambitious  plans." 

Ulrica  cast  a  long  and  piercing 
glance  upon  her  sister.  She  would 
gladly  have  searched  to  the  bottom  of 
her  soul;  she  wished  t*)  know  if  this 
fierce  opposition  to  the  marriage  was 
the  result  of  love  to  the  faith  of  her  fa- 
thers. 

"And  you  are  not  ambitious?  you 


30 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


ore  not  excited  bj-^  tlie  thought  of  be- 
ing a  queen,  of  mari-ying  a  man  who 
will  fill  a  place  in  the  world's  his- 
tory ? » 

The  young  girl  raised  her  eyes  in 
amazement,  and  her  tears  ceased  to 
flow. 

*'  What  has  a  woman  to  do  with  the 
world's  history  ?  "  she  said ;  "  think  you 
I  care  to  be  named  as  the  wife  of  a 
King  of  Sweden  ?  it  is  a  sad,  unhappy 
fate  to  be  a  princess.  We  are  sold  to 
him  who  makes  the  largest  offer  and 
the  most  favorable  conditions.  Well, 
let  it  be  so ;  it  is  the  fate  of  all  jirincess- 
es ;  it  is  for  this  we  are  educated,  and 
must  bow  humbly  to  the  yoke;  but 
liberty  of  conscience  should  be  at  least 
allowed  us,  freedom  of  thought,  the 
poor  consolation  of  worshipping  God 
in  the  manner  we  prefer,  and  of  seek- 
ing help  and  protection  in  the  arms  of 
that  religion  which  we  believe  in  and 
love." 

"One  can  be  faithful  to  God  even 
when  unfoithful  to  their  first  faith," 
said  Ulrica,  who  began  already  to  make 
excuses  to  herself  for  the  change  of  re- 
ligion she  contemplated. 

"  That  is  not  in  my  power  ! "  cried 
Amelia,  passionately.  "I  cling  to  the 
religion  of  my  house,  and  I  should 
tremble  before  the  wrath  of  God  if  I 
gave  it  up  ! " 

"  After  all,  it  is  but  a  small  and  un- 
hnportant  dift'erence  between  the  Re- 
formed and  Lutheran  Churches,"  said 
Ulrica,  much  excited,  and  entirely  for- 
getting that  the  question  had  as  yet  no 
relation  to  herself.  "One  can  be  as 
pious  a  Christian  in  the  Reformed 
Church  as  in  the  Lutheran." 

"Not  I;  it  is  not  in  my  power,"  said 
Amelia,  with  the  wilfulness  of  a  spoiled 
child  not  accustomed  to  opposition.  "  I 
Avill  not  become  a  Lutheran.  A  Poll- 
nitz  may  change  his  faith,  but  not  the 
daughter  of  Frederick  William.  Did 
not  the  king  with  indignation  and  con- 


tempt relate  to  us  how  Polluitz  had 
again  changed  his  religi(m  and  become 
a  Protestant  ?  Did  we  net  laugh  heart- 
ily, and  in  our  hearts  despise  the  dis- 
honorable man  ?  I  will  not  place  my- 
self in  such  a  position." 

"  Then,  my  sister,  there  will  be  stormy 
times  and  stern  strife  in  our  household : 
the  bitter  scenes  of  earlier  days  will  be 
renewed.  Our  royal  brother  is  not  less 
resolute  than  our  stern  fathei*.  I  fear 
that  his  brothers  and  sisters  are  nothing 
more  to  him  than  useful  instruments  in 
this  great  state  machine,  and  they  must 
bow  themselves  unquestioningly  to  his 
commands." 

"  Yes,  I  feel  this ;  I  see  it  clearly,"  said 
Amelia,  trembling ;  "  and  for  this  reason, 
dear  sister,  you  must  stand  by  me  and 
help  me.  I  swear  to  you  that  I  will  not 
become  a  Lutheran." 

"Is  that  your  unchangeable  resolu- 
tion ? " 

"Yes,  imchangeable." 

"  Well,  if  that  is  so,  I  will  give  you 
my  counsel." 

"  Speak,  speak  quickly,"  said  Amelia, 
breathlessly,  and,  throwing  her  arms 
around  the  slender  waist  of  her  sister, 
she  laid  her  head  trustingly  upon  her 
shoulder. 

"  Firstly,  the  Swedish  ambassador  haa 
not  made  a  formal  demand  for  your 
hand ;  that  probably  proves  that  he 
will  first  examine  and  observe  you 
closely,  to  see  if  you  are  suited  to  be 
the  wife  of  the  prince  royal.  We  have 
still,  therefore,  a  short  delay,  which,  if 
wisely  used,  may  conduct  you  to  the 
desired  goal.  But,  Amelia,  prove  your 
self  once  more;  ask  counsel  again  of 
your  heart  and  conscience,  before  you 
make  a  final  resolve.  I  will  not  have 
you  complam  of  me  in  future,  and  say 
that  my  foolish  and  guilty  counsel  lost 
you  the  throne  of  Sweden." 

"  Oh  fear  not,  my  beloved  sister.  1 
will  not  be  Queen  of  Sweden  at  the  coat 
of  my  immortal  soul." 


FREDERICK  THE  GREir   AXD   HIS  FRIENDS. 


31 


"You  will  not,  then,  reproach  me 
Amelia?" 

"  Never." 

"Listen,  then.  From  this  moment 
lay  a  mask  upon  ynnr  face  ,  that  is  to 
say,  assume  a  pvoud,  rude,  overbearing 
tone  to  all  around  you — tow  aid  your 
friends,  your  servants,  the  court  circle, 
yes,  even  toward  the  members  of  your 
family.  Particularly  in  the  presence  of 
this  Swedish  ambassadoi*,  show  your- 
self to  be  a  cap;-icious,  nervous,  and 
haughty  princess,  who  scarcely  thinks 
it  worth  the  trouble  to  speak  a  word, 
or  give  a  friendly  glance,  to  a  man  in 
his  position.  When  you  speak  to  him 
and  he  attempts  to  answer,  cut  short 
liis  replies,  and  command  him  to  be 
silent ;  if  he  strives  to  win  your  favor 
by  the  most  respectful  civility,  let  an 
unmistakable  expression  of  contempt 
be  written  upon  your  face,  and  let  that 
be  your  only  answer.  Regulate  your 
conduct  for  a  few  days  by  these  rules, 
and  I  am  convinced  you  will  be  satis- 
fied with  your  deportment,  and  attain 
your  object." 

"Yes,  yes!  I  understand,  I  under- 
stand !  "  said  the  young  girl,  clapping 
her  little  white  hands,  and  looking  up 
joyously.  "I  shall,  by  my  pride  and 
passion,  freeze  the  words  in  the  mouth 
of  ray  lord  ambassador,  so  that  the  de- 
cisive word  cannot  find  utterance.  Oh ! 
this  will  be  a  precious  comedy,  my 
sweet  sister,  and  I  promise  you  to  carry 
out  my  r6l3  of  heroine  to  perfection. 
Oh,  I  thank  you !  I  thank  you  !  I  am 
indeed  happy  to  have  founa  so  wise  a 
sister,  so  brave  a  comrade-in-arms,  while 
surrounded  with  such  perils  !" 

"  She  would  not  have  it  otherwise," 
said  Ulrica,  laconically,  as  she  found 
herself  again  alone.  "  If  she  is  without 
ambition,  so  uiuch  the  worse  for  her — 
BO  much  tie  better  for  me  !  And  now, 
it  is  high  time  to  think  of  my  toilet — 
that  is  a  most  important  consideration. 
Tt>-duy  I  must  be  not  only  amiable,  but 


lovely.  To-day  I  will  make  my  appear- 
ance as  an  innocent  and  impretcnding 
maiden." 

With  a  mocking  smile  she  entered 
her  boudoir,  and  called  her  attendants. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE   TEMPTEK. 


Princess  Uleica  was  earnestly  occu- 
pied with  considerations  of  her  toilet. 
Amelia  had  returned  to  her  room,  mus- 
ing and  thoughtful. 

There  were  difficulties  in  the  way  of 
the  new  role  she  had  resolved  to  play, 
and  by  which  she  expected  to  deceive 
the  world.  She  stood  for  a  moment  be- 
fore the  door  of  her  dressing-room,  and 
listened  to  the  voices  of  her  attendants, 
who  were  gayly  laughing  and  talking. 
It  was  her  custom  to  join  them,  and 
take  a  ready  part  in  their  merry  sports 
and  jests.  She  must  now,  however, 
deny  herself,  and  put  a  guard  over  her 
heart  and  lips.  Accordingly,  with  a 
dark  frown  on  her  brow  and  tightly- 
compressed  lips,  she  entered  the  room 
in  which  her  maids  were  at  that  moment 
arranging  her  ball  toilet  for  the  even- 
ing. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  your  loud  talk- 
ing is  most  unseemly,"  said  Amelia,  in 
a  tone  so  haughty,  so  passionate,  that 
the  smiles  of  the  two  young  girls  van- 
ished in  clouds.  "  I  will  be  obliged  to 
you  if  you  will  complete  your  work 
noiselessly,  and  reserve  your  folly  till 
you  have  left  my  room!  And  what  is 
that,  Mademoiselle  Felicien  ?  for  what 
purpose  have  you  prepared  these  flow- 
ers, which  I  see  lying  upon  your  ta- 
ble?" 

"  Your  royal  highness,  these  flowers 
are  for  your  coiffure,  and  these  bou- 
quets are  intended  to  festoon  youi 
dress." 


82 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


"  How  dare  you  allow  yourself  to  de- 
cide upon  my  toilet,  mademoiselle  ?" 

"  I  have  not  dared,"  said  Fglicien, 
tremblingly;  "your  royal  highness  or- 
dered moss  roses  for  your  hair,  and 
bouquets  of  the  same  for  your  bosom 
and  your  robe." 

''  It  appears  to  me,"  said  Amelia,  im- 
periously, "  that  to  contradict  me,  and  at 
the  same  time  assert  that  which  is  false, 
is,  to  say  the  least,  unbecoming  your 
position.  I  am  not  inclined  to  appear 
in  the  toilet  of  a  gardener's  daughter. 
To  prove  this,  I  will  throw  these  flow- 
ers, which  you  dare  to  assert  I  ordered, 
from  the  window ;  with  their  strong 
odor  they  poison  the  air." 

With  a  cruel  hand,  she  gathered  up 
the  lovely  roses,  and  hastened  to  the 
window.  "Look,  mademoiselle,  these 
are  the  flowers  which  you  undertook  to 
prepare  for  my  hair,"  said  Amelia,  with 
well- assumed  scoi*n,  as  she  threw  the 
bouquet  into  the  garden  which  sur- 
rounded the  castle  of  Monbijou ;  "  look, 
mademoiselle." 

Suddenly  the  princess  uttered  a  low 
cry,  and  looked,  blushing  painfully,  in- 
to the  garden.  In  her  haste,  she  had 
not  remarked  that  two  gentlemen,  at 
that  moment,  crossed  the  great  court 
which  led  to  the  principal  door  of  the 
castle ;  and  the  flowers  which  she  had 
BO  scornfully  rejected,  had  struck  the 
younger  and  taller  of  the  gentlemen  ex- 
actly in  the  face.  He  stood  completely 
amazed,  and  looked  questioningly  at 
the  window  from  which  this  curious 
bomb  had  fallen.  His  companion, 
nowever,  laughed  aloud,  and  made  a 
profound  bow  to  the  princess,  who  still 
stood,  blushing  and  embarrassed,  at  the 
window. 

"  From  this  hour  I  believe  in  the  le- 
gend of  the  Fairy  of  the  Roses,"  said 
the  elder  of  the  two  gentlemen,  who 
was  indeed  no  other  than  Baron  P611- 
nitz.  "Yes,  princess,  I  believe  fully, 
and  I  would  not  be  at  all  astonished  if 


your  highness  should  at  this  moment 
flutter  from  the  window  in  a  chariot 
drawn  by  doves,  and  cast  another 
shower  of  blossoms  in  the  face  of  my 
fi'iend." 

The  princess  had  found  time  to  re- 
cover herself,  and  to  remember  the 
haughty  part  she  was  determined  to 
play. 

"  I  hope,  baron,"  she  said  sternly, "  you 
will  not  allow  yourself  to  suppose  it 
was  my  purpose  to  throw  those  roses 
either  to  your  companion  or  yourself? 
I  wished  only  to  get  rid  of  them." 

She  shut  the  window  rudely  and 
noisily,  and  commanded  her  attendants 
to  complete  her  toilet  at  once.  She 
seated  herself  sternly  before  the  glass, 
and  ordered  her  French  maid  to  cover 
her  head  with  jewels  and  ribbons. 

The  two  gentlem.en  still  stood  in  the 
garden,  in  earnest  conversation. 

"This  is  assuredly  an  auspicious 
omen,  my  friend,"  said  Pollnitz  to  the 
young  oflScer,  who  was  gazing  musing- 
ly at  the  roses  he  held  in  his  hand.  He 
had  raised  his  eyes  from  the  flowers  to 
the  window  at  which  the  lovely  form 
of  the  princess  had,  for  a  few  moments, 
appeared. 

"  Alas !  "  said  he,  sighing,  and  gazing 
afar  oif ;  "  she  is  so  wonderfully  beauti- 
ful— so  lovely ;  and  she  is  a  princess ! " 

Pollnitz  laughed  heartily.  "  One 
might  think  that  you  regretted  that 
fact!  Listen  to  me,  my  young  friend; 
stand  no  longer  here,  in  a  dream. 
Come,  in  place  of  entering  the  castle 
immediately,  to  pay  our  respects  to  the 
queen -mother,  we  will  take  a  walk 
through  the  garden,  that  you  may  allay 
your  raptures  and  recover  your  rea- 
son." 

He  took  the  arm  of  the  young  man, 
and  drew  him  into  a  shady,  private 
pathway. 

"  Now,  my  dear  friend,  listen  to  me, 
and  lay  to  heart  all  that  I  say  to  you. 
Accident,  or,  if  you    prefer  it,   Fate 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT   AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


33 


brouglit  U3  together.  After  all,  it 
seems  indeed  more  than  an  accident. 
I  had  just  returned  to  Berlin,  and  was 
about  to  pay  my  respects  to  the  queen- 
mother,  when  I  met  you,  who  at  the 
same  time  seek  an  audience,  in  order  to 
commend  yourself  to  her  royal  protec- 
tion. You  bear  a  letter  of  commenda- 
tion from  my  old  friend,  Count  Lottum. 
All  this,  of  course,  excites  my  curiosity. 
I  ask  you  your  name,  and  learn,  to  my 
astonishment,  that  you  are  young  Von 
Trenck,  the  son  of  the  woman  who  was 
my  first  love,  and  who  made  me  most 
unhappy  by  not  returning  my  passion. 
I  assure  you,  it  produces  a  peculiar 
sensation  to  meet  so  unexpectedly  the 
son  of  a  first  love,  whose  father,  alas ! 
you  have  not  the  happiness  to  be.  I 
feel  already  that  I  am  prepared  to  love 
you  as  foolishly  as  I  once  loved  your 
fair  mother." 

"I  will  not,  like  ray  mother,  reject 
your  vows,"'  said  the  young  officer, 
smiling,  and  extending  his  hand  to 
Pollnitz. 

"I  hoped  as  much,"  said  Pollnitz; 
"you  shall  find  a  fond  father  in  me, 
and  even  to-day  I  will  commence  my 
parental  duties.  In  the  fii'st  place, 
what  brings  you  here  ? " 

"  To  make  my  fortune — to  become  a 
general,  or  field-marshal,  if  possible," 
SM.d  the  young  man,  laughing. 

"  How  old  are  you  ? " 

"  I  am  nineteen ." 

"  You  wear  the  uniform  of  an  officer 
of  the  life-guard ;  the  king  has,  there- 
fore, already  promoted  you  ?  " 

"  I  was  a  cadet  but  eight  days,"  said 
Trenck,  proudly.  "  My  step  -  father, 
Count  Lottum,  came  with  me  from 
Dantzic,  and  presented  me  to  the  king. 
His  majesty  received  me  graciously,  and 
remembered  well  that  I  had  received, 
at  the  examination  at  Konigsberg,  the 
drst  prize  from  his  hand." 

"Go  on,  go  on,"  said  Pollnitz;  "you 
see  I  am  all  ear,  and  I  must  know  your 

3 


present  position,  in  order  to  be  useful 
to  you." 

"  The  king,  as  I  have  said,  received 
me  graciously,  even  kindly ;  he  made 
me  a  cadet  in  his  cavalry  corps,  and 
three  weeks  after,  I  was  summoned 
before  him ;  he  had  heard  something 
of  my  wonderful  memory,  and  he 
wished  to  prove  me." 

"Well,  how  did  you  stand  the 
proof?" 

"  I  stood  with  the  king  at  the  win- 
dow, and  he  called  over  to  me  quickly  the 
names  of  fifty  soldiers  who  were  stand- 
ing in  the  court  below,  pointing  to  each 
man  as  he  called  his  name.  I  then  re- 
peated to  him  every  name  in  the  same 
succession,  but  backward." 

"  A  wonderful  memory,  indeed,"  said 
Pollnitz,  taking  a  pinch  of  Spanish 
snuflf;  "a  terrible  memory,  which 
would  make  me  shudder  if  I  were  your 
sweetheart ! " 

''  And  why  ? "  said  the  young  officer. 

"  Because  you  would  hold  ever  in  re- 
membrance all  her  caprices  and  all  her 
oaths,  and  one  day,  when  she  no  longer 
loved  you,  she  would  be  held  to  a  strict 
account.  Well,  did  the  king  subject 
you  to  further  proof? " 

"  Yes ;  he  gave  me  the  material  for 
two  letters,  which  I  dictated  at  the 
same  time  to  his  secretaries,  one  in 
French  and  one  in  Latin.  He  then 
commanded  me  to  draw  the  plan  of 
the  Hare  Meadow,  and  I  did  so." 

"Was  he  pleased?" 

"  He  made  me  comet  of  the  guard," 
said  Trenck,  modestly  avoiding  a  more 
direct  answer. 

"I  see  you  are  in  high  favor:  m 
three  weeks  you  are  promoted  from 
cadet  to  lieutenant! — quick  advance- 
ment, which  the  king,  no  doubt,  signal- 
ized by  some  other  act  of  grace  ? " 

"  He  sent  me  two  horses  from  his 
stable,  and  when  I  came  to  thank  him, 
he  gave  me  a  purse  containing  two 
hundred  '  Fredericks.' " 


34 


BERLIN   AND   SANS-SODCI;    OR, 


Pollnitz  gave  a  spring  backward. 
"  Thunder  !  you  arc  indeed  in  favor  I 
the  king  gives  you  presents  1  Ah,  my 
young  friend,  I  would  protect  you,  but 
it  seems  you  can  patronize  me.  The 
king  has  never  made  me  a  present. 
And  what  do  you  desire  to-day  of  the 
queen-mother  ? " 

"  As  I  am  now  a  lieutenant,  I  belong 
to  the  court  circle,  and  must  take  part 
in  the  court  festivals.  So  the  king 
commanded  me  to  pay  my  respects  to 
the  queen-mother." 

'•  Ah,  the  king  ordered  that  ?  "  said 
Pollnitz;  "truly,  young  man,  the  king 
must  destine  you  for  great  things — he 
overloads  you  with  favors.  You  will 
make  a  glittering  career,  provided  you 
are  wise  enough  to  escape  the  shoals 
and  quicksands  in  your  way.  I  can 
tell  you,  there  will  be  adroit  and  will- 
ing hands  ready  to  cast  you  down; 
those  who  are  in  favor  at  court  have 
always  bitter  enemies." 

"Yes,  I  am  aware  that  I  have  ene- 
mies," said  Trenck ;  "  more  than  once  I 
have  already  been  charged  with  being 
a  drunkard  and  a  rioter  ;  but  the  king, 
happily,  only  laughed  at  the  accusa- 
tions." 

"He  is  really  in  high  favor,  and  I 
would  do  well  to  secure  his  friend- 
ship," thought  Pollnitz;  "the  king 
will  also  be  pleased  with  me  if  I  am 
kind  to  him."  He  held  out  his  hand 
to  the  young  officer,  and  said  with 
fatherly  tenderness:  "From  this  time 
onward  when  your  enemies  shall  please 
to  attack  you,  they  shall  not  find  you 
alone  ;  they  will  find  me  a  friend  ever  at 
your  side.  You  are  the  son  of  the  only 
woman  I  ever  loved — I  will  cherish  you 
in  my  heart  as  my  first-born  1 " 

'•And  I  receive  you  as  my  father 
with  my  whole  heart,"  said  Trenck; 
"be  my  father,  my  friend,  and  my 
counsellor." 

"  The  court  is  a  dangerous  and  slip- 
pery stage,  upon  which  a  joung  and 


inexperienced  man  may  lightly  slip, 
unless  held  up  by  a  strong  arm.  Many 
will  hate  you  because  you  are  in  favor, 
and  the  hate  of  many  is  like  the  sting 
of  hornets :  (me  sting  is  not  fatal,  but  a 
general  attack  sometimes  brings  death 
Make  use,  therefore,  of  your  sunshine, 
and  fix  yourself  strongly  in  an  immov- 
able position." 

"  The  great  question  is,  what  shall  be 
my  first  step  to  secure  it  ?  " 

"  How  !  you  ask  that  question,  and 
you  are  nineteen  years  old,  six  feet  high, 
have  a  handsome  face,  a  splendid  fig- 
ure, an  old,  renowned  name,  and  are 
graciously  received  at  court  ?  Ah  1 
youngster,  I  have  seen  many  arrive  at 
the  highest  honors  and  distinctions, 
who  did  not  possess  half  your  glittering- 
qualities.  If  you  use  the  right  means 
at  the  right  time,  you  cannot  fail  of 
success." 

"  What  do  you  consider  the  best 
means  ? " 

"  The  admiration  and  favor  of  wo- 
men !  You  must  gain  the  love  of  pow- 
erful and  influential  women  !  Oh,  you 
are  terrified,  and  your  brow  is  clouded  ! 
Perhaps,  unhappily,  you  are  already  in 
love?" 

"  No  !  "  said  Frederick  von  Trenck, 
violently.  "  I  have  never  been  in  love. 
I  dare  say  more  than  that :  I  have  never 
kissed  the  lips  of  a  woman." 

Pollnitz  gazed  at  him  with  an  ex- 
pression of  indescribable  amazement. 
"  How  !  "  said  he ;  "  you  are  nineteen, 
and  assert  that  you  have  never  em- 
braced a  woman  ? "  He  gave  a  mock- 
ing and  cynical  laugh. 

"  Ordinary  women  have  always  ex- 
cited my  disgust,"  said  the  young 
ofiicer,  simply ;  "  and  until  this  day  I 
have  never  seen  a  woman  who  resem- 
bled my  ideal." 

"  So,  then,  the  woman  with  whom 
you  will  now  become  enamoured  will  re- 
ceive your  first  tender  vows  ? " 

"  Yes,  even  so." 


FKEDERICK  THE   GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


35 


"  And  you  wear  the  tiniform  of  the 
life-guard — you  are  a  lieutenant ! "  cried 
Pollnitz  with  tragical  pathos,  and  ex- 
tending his  arms  toward  heaven.  "  But 
how  ? — what  did  you  say  ? — that  until 
to-day  you  had  seen  no  woman  who 
approached  your  ideal  ?  " 

"I  said  that." 

"  And  to-day— ?" 

*'  Well,  it  seems  to  me,  we  have  both 
seen  an  angel  to  day ! — an  angel,  whom 
you  have  wronged  in  giving  her  the 
common  name  of  fairy." 

"Aha!  the  Princess  Amelia,"  said 
PoUnitz.  "You  will  love  this  yoimg 
maiden,  my  friend." 

"Then,  indeed,  shall  I  be  most  un- 
happy !  She  is  a  royal  princess,  and 
and  my  love  must  ever  be  unrequited." 

"  Who  told  you  that  ?  who  told  you 
that  this  little  Amelia  was  only  a  prin- 
cess? I  tell  you  she  is  a  young  girl 
with  a  heart  of  fire.  Try  to  awake  her 
— she  only  sleeps  I  A  happy  event  has 
already  greeted  you.  The  princess  has 
fixed  your  enraptured  gaze  upon  her 
lovely  form,  by  throwing  or  ratlier 
shooting  roses  at  you.  Perhaps  the 
god  of  Love  has  hidden  his  arrow  in  a 
rose.  You  thought  Amelia  had  only 
pelted  your  cheek  with  roses,  but  the 
arrow  has  entered  your  soul.  Try  yoiu: 
.uck,  young  man ;  gain  the  love  of  the 
King's  favorite  sister,  and  you  will  be 
all-powerful.'' 

The  young  officer  looked  at  him  with 
confused  and  misty  eyes. 

"  You  do  not  dare  to  suggest,"  mur- 
mured he,  "  that—" 

"  I  dare  to  say,"  cried  Pollnitz,  inter- 
rupting him,  "that  you  are  in  favor 
with  the  brother;  why  may  you  not 
also  gain  the  sister's  good  graces?  I 
say  further,  that  I  will  assist  you,  and 
I  will  ever  be  at  your  side,  as  a  loving 
Mend  and  sagacious  counsellor." 

"Do  you  know,  baron,  that  your 
wild  words  open  a  future  to  my  view 
before  which  my  brain  and  heart  are 


reeling?    How  shall  I  dare  to  love  a 
princess,  and  seek  her  love  in  return  ?  " 

"  As  to  the  first  point,  I  think  you 
have  already  dared.  As  to  the  second, 
I  think  your  rare  beauty  and  wondrous 
accomplishments  might  justify  such 
pretensions." 

"  You  know  I  never  can  become  the 
husband  of  a  princess." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Pollnitz, 
laughing  aloud;  "  you  are  as  innocent  aa 
a  girl  of  sixteen  !  you  have  this  moment 
fallen  headlong  in  love,  and  begin  at 
once  to  think  of  the  possibility  of  mar- 
riage, as  if  love  had  no  other  refuge 
than  marriage,  and  yet  I  think  I  have 
read  that  the  god  of  Love  and  the  god 
of  Hymen  are  rarely  seen  together, 
though  brothers ;  in  point  of  fact,  they 
despise  and  flee  from  each  other.  But 
after  all,  young  man,  if  your  love  is 
virtuous  and  requires  the  priest's  bless- 
ing, I  think  that  is  possible.  Only  a 
few  years  since  the  ^\-idowed  margra- 
vine, the  aunt  of  the  king,  married  the 
Count  Hoditz.  What  the  king's  aunt 
accomplished,  might  be  po^ible  to  the 
king's  sister." 

"  Silence,  silence ! "  murmured  Fred- 
erick von  Trenck;  "your  wild  words 
cloud  my  understanding  like  the  breath 
of  opium ;  they  make  me  mad,  drunk. 
You  stand  near  me  like  the  tempter, 
showing  to  my  bewildered  eyes  more 
than  all  the  treasures  of  this  world,  and 
saying,  '  All  these  things  will  I  give 
thee ; '  but  alas !  I  am  not  the  Messiah. 
I  have  not  the  courage  to  cast  down 
and  trample  under  foot  your  devilish 
temptations.  'Mj  whole  soul  springs 
out  to  meet  them,  and  shouts  for  joy. 
Oh,  sir,  what  have  you  done  ?  You 
have  aroused  my  youth,  my  ambiticm, 
my  passion ;  you  have  filled  my  veins 
with  fire,  and  I  am  drunk  with  the 
sweet  but  deadly  poison  you  have 
poured  into  my  ears." 

"  I  have  assured  you  that  I  will  be 
your  father.     I  will  lead  yon,  and   ai 


36 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


the  right  moment  I  "will  point  out  the 
obstacles  against  which  your  inexperi- 
enced feet  might  stumble,"  said  P611- 
nitz. 

The  stony-hearted  and  egotistical 
old  courtier  felt  not  the  least  pity  for 
this  poor  young  man  into  whose  ear,  as 
Trenck  had  well  said,  he  was  pour- 
ing this  fatal  poison.  Frederick  von 
Trenck,  the  favorite  of  the  king,  was 
nothing  more  to  him  than  a  ladder  by 
which  he  hoj^ed  to  mount.  He  took 
the  arm  of  the  young  officer  and  en- 
deavored to  soothe  him  with  cool  and 
moderate  words,  exhorting  him  to  be 
quiet  and  reasonable.  They  turned 
their  steps  toward  the  castle,  in  order 
to  pay  their  respects  to  the  queen- 
mother.  The  hour  of  audience  was 
over,  and  the  two  gentlemen  lounged 
arm  in  arm  down  the  street. 

"Let  us  go  toward  the  palace,"  said 
PoUnitz.  "  I  think  we  will  behold  a 
rare  spectacle,  a  crowd  of  old  wigs  who 
have  disguised  themselves  as  savans. 
To-day,  the  first  sitting  of  the  Academy 
of  Arts  and  Sciences  takes  place,  and 
the  celebrated  President  Maupertius 
will  open  the  meeting  in  the  name  of 
the  king.  This  is  exactly  the  time  for 
the  renowned  worthies  to  leave  the  cas- 
tle. Let  us  go  and  witness  this  comical 
show." 

The  two  gentlemen  found  it  impossi- 
ble to  carry  out  their  plans.  A  mighty 
crowd  of  men  advanced  upon  them  at 
this  moment,  and  compelled  them  to 
stand  still.  Every  face  in  the  vast  as- 
semblage was  expectant.  Certainly 
some  rare  exhibition  was  to  be  seen  in 
the  circle  which  the  crowd  had  left 
open  in  their  midst.  There  was  merry 
laughing  and  jesting  and  questioning 
amongst  each  other,  as  to  what  all  this 
could  mean,  and  what  proclamation 
that  could  be  which  the  drummer  had 
just  read  in  the  palace  garden. 

"  It  will  l)e  repeated  here  in  a  mo- 
ment," said  a  voice  from  the  crowd, 


which  increased  every  moment,  and  in 
.  whose  fierce  waves  Pollnitz  and  Trenck 
were  forcibly  swallowed  up.  Pressed, 
pushed  onwai'd  by  powerful  arms,  re- 
sistance utterly  in  vain,  the  two  com- 
panions found  themselves  at  the  same 
moment  in  the  open  space  just  as  the 
drummer  broke  into  the  circle,  and, 
playing  his  drumsticks  with  powerful 
and  zealous  hands,  he  called  the  crowd 
to  order. 

The  drum  overpowered  the  wild  out- 
cries and  rude  laughter  of  the  vast  as- 
sembly, and  soon  silenced  them  com- 
pletely. Every  man  held  his  breath  to 
hear  what  the  public  crier,  who  had 
spoken  so  much  to  the  purpose  by  his 
drum,  had  now  to  declare  by  word  oi 
mouth.  He  drew  from  his  pocket  a 
large  document  sealed  with  the  state 
seal,  and  took  advantage  of  the  general 
quiet  to  read  the  formal  introductory 
to  all  such  proclamations :  "  We,  Fred- 
erick, king  of  Prussia,"  etc.,  etc. 

On  coming  to  the  thrcme,  Frederick 
had  abolished  all  that  long  and  absurd 
list  of  titles  and  dignities  which  had 
heretofore  adorned  the  royal  declara- 
tions. Even  that  highest  of  all  titles, 
"  King  by  the  grace  of  God,"  had  Fred 
erick  the  Second  set  aside.  He  de- 
clared that,  in  saying  King  of  Prussia, 
all  was  said.  His  father  had  called 
himself  King  of  Prussia,  by  the  grace  of 
God  ;  he,  therefore,  would  call  himself 
simply  the  King  of  Prussia,  and  if  ho 
did  not  boast  of  God's  grace,  it  was  be- 
cause he  would  prove  by  deeds,  not 
words,  that  he  possessed  it. 

After  this  little  digression  we  will 
return  to  our  drummer,  who  now 
began  to  read,  or  rather  to  cry  out  the 
command  of  the  king. 

""We,  Frederick,  king  of  Prussia, 
order  and  command  that  no  one  of  our 
subjects  shall,  under  any  circumstances, 
lend  gold  to  our  master  of  ceiemonies, 
whom  we  have  again  taken  into  om 
service,  or  assist  him    in  any  way  tf 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND   HIS   FRIENDS. 


37 


^jrrow  money.  Wlioever,  therefore, 
all  all,  in  despite  of  this  proclamation, 
lend  money  to  said  Baron  Pollnitz,  must 
bear  the  consequences ;  they  shall  make 
no  demand  for  repayment,  and  the  case 
shall  not  be  considered  in  court.  Who- 
soever shall  disobey  this  command, 
shall  pay  a  fine  of  fifty  thalers,  or  suf- 
fer fifteen  days'  imprisonment." 

A  wild  shout  of  laughter  from  the 
entire  assembly  was  the  reply  to  this 
proclamation,  in  which  the  worldly- 
wise  Pollnitz  joined  heartily,  while  his 
young  companion  had  not  the  courage 
to  raise  his  eyes  from  the  ground. 

"The  old  courtier  will  burst  with 
rage,"  said  a  gay  voice  fi'om  the 
crowd. 

"  He  is  a  desperate  borrower,"  cried 
another. 

"  He  has  richly  deserved  this  public 
shame  and  humiliation  from  the  king," 
said  another. 

"  And  you  call  this  a  humiliation, 
a  merited  punishment ! "  cried  Poll- 
nitz. "  Wliy,  my  good  friends,  can  you 
not  see  that  this  is  an  honor  which  the 
king  shows  to  his  old  and  faithful 
servant?  Do  you  not  know  that  by 
this  proclamation  he  places  Baron  Poll- 
nitz exactly  on  the  same  footing  with 
the  princes  of  the  blood,  wdth  the 
prince  royal  ? " 

"  How  is  that  ?  explain  that  to  us," 
cried  a  hundred  voices  in  a  breath. 

"Well,  it  is  very  simple.  Has  not 
the  king  recently  renewed  the  law 
which  forbids,  under  pain  of  heavy 
punishment,  the  princes  of  the  blood  to 
borrow  money  ?  Is  not  this  law  print- 
ed in  our  journals,  and  made  public  in 
our  collections  of  laws  ? " 

"  Yes,  yes !  so  it  is,"  said  many  voices 
simultaneously. 

"Well,  certamly,  our  exalted  sover- 
eign, who  loves  his  royal  brothers  so 
warmly,  would  not  have  cast  shame 
upon  their  honor.  Certainly  he  would 
not  have  wished  to  humiliate  them. 


and  has  not  done  so.  The  king,  as  you 
must  now  plainly  perceive,  has  acted 
toward  Baron  Pollnitz  precisely  as  he 
has  done  to  his  brothers." 

"And  that  is,  without  doubt,  a  great 
honor  for  him,"  cried  many  voices.  No 
one  guessed  the  name  of  the  speaker 
who  was  so  fortunately  at  hand  to  de- 
fend the  honor  of  the  master  of  ceremo- 
nies. A  general  murmur  of  applause 
was  heard,  and  even  the  public  crier 
stood  still  to  listen  to  the  eloquent 
unknown  speaker,  and  forgot  for  a 
while  to  hurry  off  to  the  next  street- 
corner  and  proclaim  the  royal  man- 
date. 

"Besides,  this  law  is  '•sans  conse- 
qtience,^  as  we  are  accustomed  to  say," 
said  Pollnitz.  "Who  would  not,  in 
spite  of  the  law,  lend  our  princes  gold 
if  they  had  need  of  it  ?  And  who  has 
right  to  take  offence  if  the  state  refuses 
to  pay  the  debts  which  the  princes 
make  as  private  persons?  The  baron 
occupies  precisely  the  same  position. 
The  king,  who  has  honored  the  newly- 
returned  baron  with  two  highly  impor- 
tant trusts,  master  of  ceremonies  and 
master  of  the  robes,  will  frighten  his  rath- 
er lavish  old  friend  from  making  debts. 
He  chooses,  therefore,  the  same  means 
by  which  he  seeks  to  restrain  his  royal 
brothers,  and  forbids  all  persons  to  lend 
gold  to  Pollnitz:  as  he  cannot  well 
place  this  edict  in  the  laws  of  the  land, 
he  is  obliged  to  make  it  known  by  the 
di'ummer.  And  now,"  said  the  speaker, 
who  saw  plainly  the  favorable  impres- 
sion which  his  little  oration  had  made 
— "  and  now,  best  of  friends,  I  pray  you 
to  make  way  and  allow  me  to  pass 
through  the  crowd ;  I  must  go  at  once 
to  the  palace  to  thank  his  majesty  for 
the  si^ecial  grace  and  distinction  which 
he  has  showered  upon  me  to-day.  I, 
myself,  am  Baron  Pollnitz  !  " 

An  outcry  of  amazement  burst  from 
the  lips  of  hund^ds,  and  all  who  stood 
near  Pollnitz    stepped   aside  reveren- 


38 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


tially,  in  order  to  give  place  to  the 
distinguished  gentleman  who  was 
treated  by  the  king  exactly  as  if  he 
were  a  prince  of  the  biood.  Pollnitz 
stepped  with  a  friendly  smile  through 
the  narrow  way  thus  opened  for  him, 
and  greeted,  with  his  cool,  impertinent 
manner  those  who  respectfully  stood 
back. 

"  I  think  I  have  given  the  king  a 
Roland  for  his  Oliver,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "I  have  broken  the  point  from 
the  arrow  which  was  aimed  at  me,  and 
it  glanced  from  my  bosom  without 
wounding  me.  Public  opinion  will  be 
on  my  side  from  this  time,  and  that 
which  was  intended  for  my  shame  has 
crowned  me  with  honor.  It  was, 
nevertheless,  a  harsh  and  cruel  act, 
for  which  I  will  one  day  hold  a  reck- 
oning with  Frederick,  Ah,  King 
Frederick !  King  Frederick  !  I  shall  not 
forget,  and  I  will  have  my  revenge ;  my 
cards  are  also  well  arranged,  and  I 
hold  important  trumps.  I  will  wait 
yet  a  little  while  upon  our  love-lorn 
shepherd,  this  innocent  and  tender 
Trenck,  who  is  in  a  dangerous  way 
about  the  little  princess." 

Pollnitz  waited  for  Trenck,  who  had 
with  difficulty  forced  his  way  through 
the  crowd  and  hastened  after  him. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  FIRST  INTERVIEW. 

The  ball  at  the  palace  was  opened. 
The  two  queens  and  the  princesses  had 
just  entered  the  great  saloon,  in  order 
to  receive  the  respectful  greetings  of 
the  ladies  of  the  court ;  while  the  king, 
in  an  adjoining  room,  was  surrounded 
by  the  gentlemen.  A  glittering  circle 
of  lovely  women,  adorned  with  dia- 
monds and  other  rich  gems,  stood  on 
each  side  of  the  room,  each  one  pa- 
tiently awaiting  the  moment  when  the 


queens  should  pass  before  her,  and 
she  might  have  the  honor  of  bowing 
almost  to  the  earth  under  the  glance  of 
the  royal  eye. 

According  to  etiquette,  Queen  Eliz- 
abeth Christine,  who,  notwithstand- 
ing her  modest  and  retired  existence, 
was  the  reigning  sovereign,  should  have 
made  the  grand  tour  alone,  and  re- 
ceived the  first  congratulations  of  the 
court ;  but  this  unhappy,  shrinking  wo- 
man, had  never  found  the  courage  to 
assume  the  rights  or  privileges  which 
belonged  to  her  as  wife  of  the  king. 
She  who  was  denied  the  highest  and 
holiest  of  all  distinctions,  the  first  place 
in  the  heart  of  her  husband,  cared 
nothing  for  these  pitiful  and  outward 
advantages.  Elizabeth  had  to-day,  as 
usual,  with  a  soft  smile,  given  prece- 
dence to  the  queen-mother,  Sophia 
Dorothea,  who  was  ever  thirsting  to 
show  that  she  held  the  first  jDlace  at  her 
son's  court,  and  who,  delighted  to  sur- 
round herself  with  all  the  accessories 
of  pomp  and  power,  was  ever  ready  to 
use  her  prerogative.  With  a  proud 
and  erect  head,  and  an  almost  con- 
temptuous smile,  she  walked  slowly 
around  the  circle  of  high-born  dames, 
who  bowed  humbly  before  this  repre- 
sentative of  royalty.  Behind  her  came 
the  reigning  queen,  between  the  two 
princesses,  who  now  and  then  gave 
special  and  cordial  greetings  to  their 
personal  friends  as  they  passed.  Eliza- 
beth Christine  saw  this,  and  sighed 
bitterly.  She  had  no  personal  friend 
to  grace  with  a  loving  greeting.  No 
man  saw  any  thing  else  in  her  than  a 
sovereign  by  sufferance,  a  woman  sans 
consequence,  a  powerless  queen  and  un- 
beloved  wife.  She  had  never  had  a 
fiiend  into  whose  sympathetic  and 
silent  bosom  she  could  jjour  out  her 
griefs.  She  was  alone,  so  entirely  alone 
and  lonely,  that  the  heavy  sighs  and 
complaints  dwelling  in  her  heart  were 
ever  reverberating  in  her  ears  because 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT   AND   HIS   FRIENDS. 


39 


of  the  surrounding  silence.  And  now, 
as  she  made  the  grand  tour  with  the 
two  princesses,  no  one  seemed  to  see 
Jer;  she  was  regarded  as  the  statue 
of  a  queen,  riclily  dressed  and  decked 
with  costly  lace  and  jewels,  but  only  a 
picture  :  yet  this  picture  had  a  soul  and 
a  heai-t  of  fire — it  was  a  woman,  a  wife, 
who  loved  and  who  endured. 

Suddenly  she  trembled  ;  a  light,  like 
the  glory  of  sunshine,  flashed  in  her  eyes, 
and  a  soft  rosy  blush  spread  over  her 
fair  cheek.  The  king  had  entered  the 
room ;  yes,  he  was  there  in  all  his  beau- 
ty, his  majesty,  his  power;  Elizabeth 
felt  that  the  world  was  bright,  her 
blood  was  rushing  madly  through  her 
veins,  her  heart  was  beating  as  stormily 
as  that  of  an  impassioned  young  girL 
Oh,  it  might  be  that  the  eye  of  the  king 
— that  glowing,  wondrous  eye — might 
even  by  accident  rest  upon  her;  it 
might  be  that  Frederick  would  be 
touched  by  her  patient  endurance,  her 
silent  resignation,  and  give  her  one 
friendly  word.  She  had  been  four 
years  a  queen,  for  four  years  this  title 
had  been  a  crown  of  thorns  ;  during  all 
this  weary  time  her  husband  had  not 
vouchsafed  to  her  poor  heart,  sick  unto 
death,  one  single  sympathetic  word, 
one  afiectionate  glance ;  he  sat  by  her 
side  at  table  during  the  court  festivals ; 
he  had  from  time  to  time,  at  the  balls 
and  masquerades,  opened  the  dance 
with  her;  never,  however,  since  that 
day  on  which  he  had  printed  the  fii'st 
kiss  upon  her  lips,  never  had  he  spoken 
to  her ;  since  that  moment  she  was  to 
him  the  picture  of  a  queen,  the  empty 
form  of  a  woman.*    But  Queen  Eliza- 

*  The  king  never  .spoke  to  his  wife,  but  his 
manner  toward  her  was  considerate  and  respectful; 
n )  one  dared  to  tail  in  the  slightest  mark  of  courtly 
observance  toward  Elizabeth — this  the  king  sternly 
exacted.  Only  once  did  the  king  address  her. 
During  the  seventh  year  of  their  marriage,  the 
queen,  by  an  unhappy  accident,  had  seriously  in- 
jured her  foot;  tliis  was  a  short  time  before  her 
birthday,  which  event  was  always  celeltnited  with 
great  pomp  and  ceremony,  the  king  honoring  the 


beth  would  not  despair.  Hope  was 
her  motto,  A  day  might  come  when 
he  would  speak  to  her,  when  he  would 
forget  that  she  had  been  forced  upon 
him  as  his  wife,  a  day  when  his  heart 
might  be  touched  by  her  grief,  her 
silence  and  tearless  love.  Every  meet- 
ing with  Frederick  was  to  this  poor 
queen  a  time  of  hope,  of  joyful  expecta- 
tion ;  this  alone  sustained  her,  this  gave 
her  strength  silently,  even  smilingly,  to 
draw  her  royal  robe  over  her  bleeding 
heart. 

And  now  the  king  drew  near,  sur- 
rounded by  the  princesses  and  the 
queen-mother,  to  whom  he  gave  hia 
hand  with  an  expression  of  reverence 
and  filial  love.  He  then  bowed  silent- 
ly and  indifferently  to  his  wife,  and 
gave  a  merry  greeting  to  his  two  sisters. 

"Ladies,"  said  he,  in  a  full,  rich 
voice,  "  allow  me  to  present  to  you  and 
my  court  my  brother,  the  Prince  Au- 
gustus William  ;  he  is  now  placed  before 
you  in  a  new  and  more  distinguished 
light,"  He  took  the  hand  of  his  broth- 
er and  led  him  to  the  queen-mother. 

"I  introduce  your  son  to  you;  he 
will  be  from  this  day  onward,  if  it  so 
please  you,  also  your  grandson." 

'•  How  is  that  your  majesty  ?  I  con- 
fess you  have  brought  about  many  seem- 
ingly impossible  things ;  but  I  think  it 
is  beyond  your  power  to  make  Augus- 
tus at  the  same  time  both  my  son  and 
my  grandson." 

"  Ah,  mother,  if  I  make  him  my  son, 
will  he  not  be,  of  necessity,  your  grand- 


feU  with  his  presence.  On  this  occasion  he  came 
as  usual,  but  in  place  of  the  distant  and  silent  bow 
with  which  he  usually  greeted  her,  he  drew  near, 
gave  her  his  hand,  and  said  with  kindly  sympathy, 
"  I  sincerely  hope  that  youi-  majesty  has  recovered 
firom  your  accident."  A  general  surprise  was  pic- 
tured in  the  faces  of  all  present — but  the  poor  queen 
was  so  overcome  by  this  unexpected  happiness, 
that  she  liad  no  power  to  reply,  she  bowed  silently. 
The  king  frowned  and  turned  from  her.  Since 
Ihat  day,  the  happiness  of  which  she  had  bought 
with  an  injured  foot,  the  king  h.-id  not  spoken  t« 
her. 


10 


BERLIN   AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


son  ?  I  appoint  him  my  successor ;  in 
so  doing,  I  declare  him  my  son.  Em- 
brace him,  therefore,  your  majesty,  and 
be  the  first  to  greet  him  by  his  new  ti- 
tle. Embrace  the  Prince  of  Prussia, 
my  successor." 

"  I  obey,"  said  the  queen,  "  I  obey," 
and  she  cast  her  arms  affectionately 
around  her  son.  "I  pray  God  that 
this  title  of  'Prince  of  Prussia,'  which 
it  has  pleased  your  majesty  to  lend  him, 
may  be  long  and  honorably  worn." 

The  prince  bowed  low  before  his 
mother,  who  tenderly  kissed  his  brow, 
then  whispered,  "  Oh,  mother,  pray  ra- 
ther that  God  may  soon  release  me  from 
this  burden." 

"  How  !  "  cried  the  queen,  threaten- 
ingly, "  you  have  then  a  strong  desire  to 
be  king?  Has  your  vaulting  ambition 
made  you  forget  that  to  wish  to  be  king 
is,  at  the  same  tiine,  to  wish  the  death 
of  your  brother?" 

The  prince  smiled  sadly. 

"  Mother,  I  would  lay  aside  this  rank 
of  Prince  of  Prussia,  not  because  I 
wish  to  mount  the  throne,  but  I  would 
fain  lie  down  in  the  cold  and  quiet 
grave." 

"Are  you  always  so  sad,  so  hopeless, 
my  son — even  now,  upon  this  day  of 
proud  distinction  for  you  ?  To-day  you 
take  your  place  as  Prince  of  Prussia." 

"Yes,  your  majesty,  to-day  I  am 
crowned  with  honor,"  said  he,  bitter- 
ly. "  This  is  also  the  anniversary  of  my 
betrothal." 

Augustus  turned  and  drew  near  to 
the  king,  who  seized  his  hand  and  led 
him  to  his  wife  and  the  young  prin- 
cesses, saying  with  a  loud  voice,  "  Con- 
gratulate the  Pi-ince  of  Prussia,  ladies." 
He  then  beckoned  to  some  of  his  gen- 
erals, and  drew  back  with  them  to 
the  window.  As  he  passed  the  queen, 
his  eye  rested  upon  her  for  a  moment 
with  an  expression  of  sympathy  and 
curiosity;  he  observed  her  with  the 
searching  glance  of  a  physician,  who 


sinks  the  probe  mto  the  l)leeding 
wound,  in  order  to  know  its  depth  and 
danger. 

The  queen  understood  his  purpose. 
That  piercing  glance  was  a  warning ; 
it  gave  her  courage,  self-possession,  and 
proud  resignation.  Her  husband  has 
spoken  to  her  with  his  eyes;  that  must 
ever  be  a  consolation,  a  painful  but 
sweet  joy.  She  controlled  herself  so 
far  as  to  give  her  hand  to  the  prince 
with  a  cordial  smile. 

"  You  are  most  welcome  in  your  dou- 
ble character,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  by  the  king  and  all 
around  her.  "  Until  co-day  you  have 
been  my  beloved  brother ;  and  from 
this  time  will  you  be  to  me,  as  also  to 
my  husband,  a  dear  son.  By  the  de- 
crees of  Providence  a  son  has  been  de- 
nied me ;  I  accept  you,  therefore,  joy- 
fully, and  receive  you  as  my  son  and 
brother." 

A  profound  silence  followed  these 
words ;  here  and  there  in  the  crowd, 
slight  and  derisive  smiles  were  seen, 
and  a  few  whispered  and  significant 
words  were  uttered.  The  queen  had 
now  received  the  last  and  severest  blow; 
in  the  fulness  and  maturity  of  her  beau- 
ty she  had  been  placed  before  the  com-t 
as  unworthy  or  incapable  of  giving  a 
successor  to  the  throne ;  but  she  still 
wished  to  save  appearances  ;  she  would, 
if  possible,  make  the  world  believe 
that  the  decree  of  Providence  alone 
denied  to  her  a  mother's  honors.  She 
had  the  cruel  courage  to  conceal  the 
truth  by  prevarication. 

The  watchful  eyes  oi  the  court  had 
long  since  discovered  the  mystery  of 
this  royal  marriage ;  they  had  long 
known  that  the  queen  was  not  the  wife 
of  Frederick  ;  her  words,  therefore,  pro- 
duced contemptuous  surprise. 

Elizabeth  cared  foi  iaone  of  these 
thmgs.  She  looked  towai'd  her  hus- 
band, whose  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her 
she  would  read  in  his  countenance  V 


FREDERICK   THE  GREAT   AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


41 


le  were  pleased  with  her  words.  A 
smile  played  upon  the  lips  of  the  king, 
and  he  bowed  his  head  almost  imper- 
ceptibly as  a  greeting  to  his  wife. 

A  golden  ray  of  sunlight  seemed  to 
play  upon  her  face,  content  was  writ- 
ten in  her  eyes  ;  twice  to-day  her  glance 
had  met  her  husband's,  and  both  times 
his  eyes  had  spoken.  Elizabeth  was 
happier  than  she  had  been  for  many 
days ;  she  laughed  and  jested  with  the 
ladies,  and  conversed  gayly  over  the 
great  event  of  the  evening — the  first 
appearance  of  the  Signora  Barbarina. 
The  princesses,  also,  conversed  uncer- 
imoniously  with  the  ladies  near  them. 
A  cloud  darkened  the  usually  clear 
brow  of  the  Princess  Amelia,  and  she 
seemed  to  be  in  a  nervous  and  highly 
excited  state. 

At  this  moment  the  master  of  cere- 
monies, PoUnitz,  drew  near,  with  Count 
Tessin,  the  Swedish  ambassador.  The 
princess  immediately  assumed  so  scorn- 
ful an  expression,  that  even  Pollnitz 
scarcely  found  courage  to  present  Count 
Tessin. 

"  Ah !  you  come  from  Sweden,"  said 
Amelia,  immediately  after  the  presen- 
tation. "  Sweden  is  a  dark  and  gloomy 
country,  and  you  have  indeed  done  well 
to  save  yourself,  by  taking  refuge  in 
our  gay  and  sunny  clime." 

The  count  was  evidently  wounded. 

"  Your  royal  highness  calls  this  a  ref- 
uge," said  he;  "you  must, then,  think 
those  to  be  pitied  who  dwell  in  my 
fatherland  ? " 

"  I  do  not  feel  it  necessary  to  confide 
my  views  on  that  subject  to  Count  Tes- 
sin," said  Amelia,  with  a  short,  rude 
laugh. 

"Yes,  sister,  it  is  necessary,"  said 
Ulrica  with  a  magical  smile,  "  you  must 
justify  yourself  to  the  count,  for  you 
lave  cast  contempt  upon  his  country." 

"Ah !  your  higliness  is  pleased  to 
think  better  of  my  fatherland,"  said 
Tessin,  bowing  low  to  Ulrica.     "It  is 


true,  Sweden  is  rich  in  beauty,  and  no- 
where is  nature  more  romantic  or  more 
lovely.  The  Swede§  love  their  country 
passionately,  and,  like  the  Swiss,  they 
die  of  homesickness  when  banished 
from  her  borders.  They  languish  and 
pine  away  if  one  is  cruel  enough  to 
think  lightly  of  their  birthplace." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  commit  this  cruelty," 
cried  Amelia,  "  and  yet  I  scarcely  think 
you  will  languish  and  pine  away  on 
that  account." 

"  Dear  sister,  I  think  you  are  out  of 
temper  to-day,"  said  Ulrica,  softly. 

"  And  you  are  wise  to  remind  me  of 
it  in  this  courtly  style,"  said  Amelia ; 
"  have  you  taken  the  role  of  governess 
for  my  benefit  to-day  ?  " 

Ulrica  shrugged  her  shoulders  and 
turned  again  to  the  count,  who  was 
watching  the  young  Amelia  with  a  mix- 
ture of  astonishment  and  anger.  She 
had  been  represented  at  the  Swedish 
court  as  a  model  of  gentleness,  amia 
bility,  and  grace :  he  found  her  rudo 
and  contradictory,  fitful  and  childish. 
The  Princess  Ulrica  soon  led  the 
tnoughts  of  the  count  in  another  direc- 
tion, and  managed  to  retain  him  at  her 
side  by  her  piquant  and  intellectual 
conversation ;  she  brought  every  power 
of  her  mind  into  action ;  she  was  gra- 
cious in  the  extreme ;  she  overcame  her 
jwoud  nature,  and  assumed  a  winning 
gentleness;  in  short,  she  flattered  the 
ambassador  with  such  delicate  refine- 
ment, that  he  swallowed  the  magical 
food  offered  to  his  vanity,  without  sus- 
pecting he  was  victimized. 

Neither  the  princessn  or  the  count 
seemed  any  longer  to  remember  Amelia, 
who  still  stood  near  them  with  a  low- 
ering visage.  Pollnitz  made  use  of 
this  opportunity  to  draw  near  with  his 
young  protege^  Frederick  von  Trenck, 
and  present  him  to  the  princess,  who 
immediately  assumed  a  gay  and  laugh- 
ing expression;  she  wished  to  give  the 
ambassador  a  new  proof  of  her  stormv 


12 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI,    OR, 


and  fitful  nature:  she  would  humblg 
him  by  proving?  that  she  was  not  harsh 
and  rude  to  all  thetvorld.  She  received 
the  two  gentlemen,  therefore,  with 
great  cordiality,  and  laughed  heartily 
over  the  adventure  of  the  morning;  she 
recounted  to  tbum,  merrily  and  wittily, 
how  and  why  she  had  thrown  the  sweet 
roses  away.  Amelia  was  now  so  lovely 
and  so  spirited  to  look  upon,  so  radiant 
with  youth,  animation,  and  innocence, 
that  the  eyes  of  the  poor  young  officer 
were  dazzled  and  sought  the  floor ;  com- 
pletely intoxicated  and  bewildered,  he 
could  not  join  in  the  conversation,  ut- 
tering here  and  there  only  a  trembling- 
monosyllable. 

This  did  not  escape  the  cunning  eye 
of  the  master  of  ceremonies.  "I  must 
withdraw,"  thought  he  ;  "I  will  grant 
them  a  first  tete-d-tete.  I  will  observe 
them  from  a  distance,  and  be  able  to 
decide  if  my  plan  succeed."  Excusing 
himself  upon  the  plea  of  duty,  Pollnitz 
withdrew;  he  glided  into  a  window 
and  concealed  himself  behind  the  cur- 
tains, in  order  to  watch  the  counte- 
nances of  his  two  victims.  Pollnitz  had 
rightly  judged.  The  necessity  of  taking 
part  in  the  conversation  with  the  prin- 
cess restored  to  the  young  officer  his 
intellect  and  his  courage,  and,  in  the 
effort  to  overcome  his  timidity,  he  be- 
came too  earnest,  too  impassioned. 

But  the  princess  did  not  remark  this ; 
she  rejoiced  in  an  opportunity  to  show 
the  Swedish  ambassador  how  amiable 
and  gracious  she  could  be  to  others,  and 
thus  make  him  more  sensible  of  her 
rudeness  to  himself;  he  should  see  and 
confess  that  she  could  be  winning  and 
attractive  when  it  suited  her  purpose. 
The  count  observed  her  narrowly,  even 
while  conversing  with  Ulrica ;  he  saw 
her  ready  smile,  her  beaming  eye,  her 
perhaps  rather  demonstrative  cordiali- 
ty to  the  young  officer.  "  She  is  change- 
able and  coquettish,"  he  said  to  himself, 
while  still  carrying  on  his  conversation 


with  the  talented,  refined,  and  thorough 
ly  maidenly  Princess  Ulrica, 

The  great,  and  as  we  have  said,  some, 
what  too  strongly-marked  kindliness 
of  Amelia,  added  fuel  to  the  jjassion 
of  Trenck ;  he  became  more  daring. 

"  I  have  to  implore  your  highness  for 
a  special  grace,"  said  he  in  a  suppressed 
voice. 

"  Speak  on,"  said  she,  feeling  at  that 
moment  an  inexplicable  emoticm,  which 
made  her  heart  beat  high,  and  ban- 
ished the  blood  from  her  cheeks, 

"  I  have  dared  to  preserve  one  of  the 
roses  which  you  threw  into  the  garden, 
it  was  a  mad  theft,  I  know  it,  but  I 
was  under  the  power  of  enchantment ; 
I  could  not  resist,  and  would  at  that 
moment  have  paid  for  the  little  blos- 
som with  my  heart's  blood.  Oh,  if 
your  royal  highness  could  have  seen, 
when  I  entered  my  room  and  closed 
the  door,  with  what  rapture  I  regarded 
my  treasure,  how  I  knelt  before  it  and 
worshipped  it,  scarcely  daring  to  touch 
it  with  my  lips !  it  recalled  to  me  a 
lovely  fairy  tale  of  my  childhood," 

"How  could  a  simple  rose  recall  a 
fairy  tale  ? "  said  Amelia. 

"  It  is  a  legend  of  a  poor  shepherd- 
boy,  who,  lonely  and  neglected,  had 
fallen  asleep  under  a  tree  near  the 
highway.  Before  sleeping,  he  had 
prayed  to  God  to  have  pity  upon  him  ; 
to  fill  this  great  and  painful  void  in  his 
heart,  or  to  send  His  minister.  Death,  to 
his  release.  While  sleeping,  he  had  a 
beautiful  dream.  He  thought  he  saw 
the  heavens  open,  and  an  angel  of  en- 
chanting grace  and  beauty  fioated 
toward  him.  Her  eyes  glowed  like  two 
of  the  brightest  stars.  '  You  shall  be 
no  longer  lonely,'  she  whispered  ;  '  my 
image  shall  abide  ever  in  your  he.irt, 
and  strengthen  and  stimulate  you  to  all 
things  good  and  beautiful.'  While  say- 
ing this,  she  laid  a  wondrous  rose  upon 
his  eyes,  and,  fioating  off",  soon  disap 
peared  in  the  clouds.    The  poor  sheu 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


43 


aerd-boy  awoke,  and  was  enraptured 
with  wliat  he  supposed  had  been  a  wild 
dream.  But  lo !  there  was  the  rose, 
and  with  unspeakable  joy  he  pressed 
it  to  his  heart.  He  thanked  God  for  this 
sweet  flower,  which  proved  to  him  that 
the  angel  was  no  dream,  but  a  reality. 
The  rose,  the  visible  emblem  of  his 
good  angel,  was  the  joy  and  comfort 
of  bis  life,  and  he  wore  it  ever  in  his 
heart. — I  thought  of  this  fairy  tale, 
princess,  as  I  looked  upon  my  rose, 
but  I  felt  immediately  that  I  dared  not 
call  it  mine  without  the  consent  of  your 
highness.  Decide,  therefore;  dare  I 
keep  this  rose  ?  " 

Amelia  did  not  reply.  She  had  lis- 
tened with  a  strange  embarrassment  to 
this  impassioned  tale.  The  world — 
all,  was  forgotten ;  she  was  no  longer 
a  princess,  she  was  but  a  simple  young 
girl,  who  listened  for  the  first  time  to 
words  of  burning  passion,  and  whose 
heart  trembled  with  sweet  alarm. 

"  Princess,  dare  I  guard  this  rose  ? " 
repeated  Frederick,  with  a  trembling 
voice. 

She  looked  at  him;  their  eyes  met ;  the 
young  maiden  trembled,  but  the  man 
stood  erect.  He  felt  strong,  proud,  and 
a  conqueror;  his  glance  was  like  the 
eagle's,  when  about  to  seize  a  lamb  and 
bear  it  to  his  eyrie. 

"  He  goes  too  far ;  truly,  he  goes  too 
far,"  whispered  PoUnitz,  who  had  seen 
all,  and  from  their  glances  and  move- 
ments had  almost  read  their  thoughts 
and  words.  "  I  must  briiag  this  tete-d- 
tete  to  an  end,  and  I  shall  do  so  in  a 
profitable  manner." 

"  Dare  I  keep  this  rose  ? "  said  Freder- 
ick von  Trenck  a  third  time. 

Amelia  turned  her  head  aside  and 
whispered,  "  Keep  it," 

Trenck  would  have  answered,  but  in 
that  moment  a  hand  was  laid  upon  his 
p.rm,  and  Polluitz  stood  near  him, 

"  Prudence,"  whispered  he  anxiously. 
"  Do  you  not  see  that  you  are  observed  ? 


You  will  make  of  your  insane  and  trea- 
sonable passion  a  fairy  tale  for  the 
whole  court." 

Amelia  uttered  a  slight  cry,  and  looked 
anxiously  at  Pollnitz.  She  had  heard 
his  whispered  words,  and  the  sly  baron 
intended  that  she  should. 

"Will  your  royal  highness  dismiss 
this  madman,"  whispered  he,  "  and  al- 
low me  to  awake  his  sleeping  reason?" 

"  Go,  Herr  von  Trenck,"  said  she, 
lightly. 

Pollnitz  took  the  arm  of  the  young 
officer  and  led  him  off,  saying  to  him- 
self, with  a  chuckle :  "  That  was  a  good 
stroke,  and  I  feel  that  I  shall  succeed ; 
I  have  betrayed  his  passion  to  her,  and 
forced  myself  into  their  confidence.  I 
shall  soon  be  employed  as  Love's  mes- 
senger, and  that  is  ever  with  princesses 
a  profitable  service.  Ah,  King  Freder- 
ick, liing  Frederick,  you  have  made  it 
impossible  for  me  to  borrow  money  ! 
Well,  I  shall  not  find  that  necessary ;  my 
hands  shall  be  filled  from  the  royal 
treasures.  When  the  casket  of  the 
princess  is  empty,  the  king  must  of 
course  replenish  it,"  And  the  baron 
laughed  too  loudly  for  a  master  of  cer- 
emonies. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

SIGNOP.A     BARBARINA. 

The  princess  regarded  their  retreat- 
ing figures  with  dreamy  eyes.  Then, 
yielding  to  an  unconquerable  desire  to 
be  alone,  to  give  herself  up  to  undis- 
turbed thought,  she- was  about  to  with- 
draw ;  but  the  Princess  Ulrica,  who 
thought  it  necessary  that  the  Swedish 
ambassador  should  have  another  oppor- 
tunity of  observing  the  proud  and  sul- 
len temper  of  her  sister,  called  hei 
back. 

"Remain  a  moment  longer,  Amelia," 
said  the  princess.     ''You  shall  decide 


}4 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI ;    OK, 


between  Court  Tessin  and  myself. 
"Will  you  accept  my  sister  as  vnnpire, 
count  ? " 

"  Without  doubt,"  said  the  count. 
"I  should  be  greatly  honored  if  the 
princess  will  be  so  gracious.  Perhaps  I 
may  be  more  fortunate  on  this  occasion." 

"  It  appears  to  me,"  said  Amelia, 
rudely  interrupting  him,  "  that  '  fortu- 
nate '  and  '  unfortunate '  are  not  terms 
■which  can  be  properly  used  in  any 
connection  between  a  princess  of  Prussia 
and  yourself."  Amelia  then  turned 
toward  her  sister  and  gave  her  a  glance 
which  plainly  said :  V/ell  do  I  not 
play  my  role  in  masterly  style  ?  Have 
I  not  hastened  to  follow  your  counsels  ? 
"  Speak,  sister ;  name  the  point  which 
Count  Tessin  dares  to  contest  with  you." 

"  Oh,  the  count  is  a  man  and  a  scholar, 
and  has  full  right  to  differ,"  said  Ulrica, 
graciously.  "  The  question  was  a  com- 
parison of  Queen  Elizabeth  of  England 
and  Queen  Christina  of  Sweden.  I 
maintain  that  Christina  had  a  stronger 
and  more  powerful  intellect ;  that  she 
knew  better  how  to  conquer  her  spiilt, 
to  master  her  womanly  weaknesses ; 
that  she  was  more  thoroughly  cultivat- 
ed, and  studied  philosophy  and  science, 
not  as  Elizabeth,  for  glitter  and  show, 
but  because  she  had  an  inward  thirst 
for  knowledge.  The  count  asserts  that 
Elizabeth  was  better  versed  in  state- 
craft, and  a  more  amiable  woman. 
Now,  Amelia,  to  which  of  these  two 
queens  do  you  give  the  preference  ?  " 

"  Oh,  without  doubt,  to  Queen  Chris- 
tina of  Sweden.  This  great  woman 
was  wise  enough  not  to  regard  the 
crown  of  Sweden  as  a  rare  and  precious 
gem ;  she  chose  a  simple  life  of  obscu- 
rity and  poverty  in  beautiful  Italy, 
rather  than  a  throne  in  cold  and  unfruit- 
ful Sweden.  This  act  alone  establishes 
her  superiority.  Yes,  sister,  you  are 
right.  Christina  was  much  the  greater 
woman,  even  because  she  scorned  to 
be  Queen  of  Sweden." 


So  saying,  Amelia  bowed  slightingly, 
and,  turning  aside,  she  summoned  Ma- 
dame von  Kleist,  and  commenced  a 
merry  chat  with  her.  Count  Tessin  re- 
garded her  with  a  dark  and  scornful 
glance,  and  pressed  his  lips  tightly  to- 
gether, as  if  to  restrain  his  anger. 

"  I  beseech  you,  count,"  said  Ulrica, 
in  a  low,  soft  voice ,  "  not  to  be  oifend- 
ed  at  the  thoughtless  words  of  my  dear 
little  sister.  It  is  true,  she  is  a  little 
rude  and  resentful  to-day ;  but  you 
will  see — to-morrow,  perhaps,  will  be 
one  of  her  glorious  sunny  days,  and 
you  will  perhaps  find  her  irresistibly 
charming.  Her  moods  are  changea- 
ble, and  for  that  reason  we  call  her  our 
little' April /ee.'" 

"  Ah,  the  princess  is,  then,  as  uncer- 
tain as  April  ?  "  said  the  count,  with  a 
frosty  smile. 

"More  uncertain  than  Aj^ril,"  said 
Ulrica,  sweetly.  "  But  what  would 
you,  sir  ?  we  all,  brothers  and  sisters, 
are  responsible  for  that.  You  must 
know  that  she  is  our  favorite,  and  is  al- 
w^ays  indulged.  I  counsel  you  not  to 
find  fault  with  our  little  sister.  Count 
Tessin  ;  that  would  be  to  bring  an  ac- 
cusation against  us  all.  You  have  suf- 
fered to-day  from  a  shower  of  her 
April  moods ;  to-morrow  you  may  re- 
joice in  the  sunshine  of.  her  favor." 

"I  shall,  however,  be  doubtful  and 
anxious,"  said  the  ambassador,  coolly  ; 
"  the  April  sun  is  sometimes  accompa- 
nied by  rain  and  storm,  and  these  sud- 
den changes  bring  sickness  and  death." 

"Allow  me  to  make  one  request," 
said  Ulrica.  "  Let  not  the  king  guess 
that  you  have  suffered  from  these  April 
changes." 

"  Certainly  not ;  and  if  your  royal 
highness  will  graciously  allow  me  to 
bask  in  the  sunshine  of  your  presence, 
I  shall  soon  recover  from  the  chilling 
effect  of  these  April  showers." 

"  Well,  I  think  we  have  played  om 
parts  admirably,"  said  Ulrica  to  her- 


FREDERICK   THE  GREAT  AXD   HIS  FRIENDS. 


45 


self,  as  slie  found  time,  duiing  the 
course  of  tbe  evening,  to  meditate  upon 
the  events  of  the  day.  "Amelia  will 
accomplish  her  purpose,  and  will  not 
be  Queen  of  Sweden.  She  would  have 
it  so,  and  I  shall  not  reproach  myself." 
Princess  Ulrica  leaned  comfortably 
back  in  her  arm-chair,  and  gave  her  at- 
tention to  a  play  of  Voltaire,  which 
was  now  being  performed.  This  rep- 
resentation took  place  in  the  small  the- 
atre in  the  royal  palace.  There  was  no 
public  theatre  in  Berlin,  and  the  king 
justly  pronounced  the  large  opera- 
house  unsuited  to  declamation.  Fred- 
erick generally  gave  his  undivided  at- 
tention to  the  play,  but  this  evening  he 
was  restless  and  impatient,  and  he  ac- 
corded less  applause  to  this  piquant 
and  witty  drama  of  his  favorite  author 
than  he  was  wont  to  do.  The  king 
was  impatient,  because  the  king  was 
waiting.  He  had  so  far  restrained  all 
outward  expression  of  his  impatient 
curiosity ;  the  French  play  had  not 
commenced  one  moment  earlier  than 
usual.  Frederick  had,  according  to 
custom,  gone  behind  the  scenes,  to  say 
a  few  friendly  and  encouraging  words 
to  the  performers,  to  call  their  attention 
to  his  favorite  passages,  and  exhort 
them  to  be  truly  eloquent  in  their  reci- 
tations. And  now  the  king  waited; 
ne  felt  feverishly  impatient  to  see  and 
judge  for  himself  this  capricious  beau- 
ty, this  world-renowned  artiste,  this 
SignoraBarbarina,  whose  rare  loveliness 
and  grace  enchanted  and  bewildered 
all  who  looked  upon  her. 

At  length  the  curtain  fell.  In  a  few 
moments  he  would  see  the  Barbarina 
dance  her  celebrated  solo.  A  breath- 
less stillness  reigned  throughout  the  as- 
sembly ;  every  eye  was  fixed  upon  the 
curtain.  The  bell  sounded,  the  curtain 
flew  up,  and  a  lovely  landscape  met  the 
eye :  in  the  background  a  village  church, 
rose-bushes  in  rich  bloom,  and  shady 
trees  on  every  side ;  the  declining  sun 


gilded  the  summit  of  the  mountain, 
against  the  base  of  which  the  little  vil- 
lage nestled.  The  distant  sound  of  the 
evening  bell  was  calling  the  simple  cot- 
tagers to  "Ave  Maria."  It  was  an  en- 
chanting picture  of  innocence  and 
peace  ;  in  striking  ccmtrast  to  this  court- 
ly assembly,  glittering  with  gems  and 
starry  orders — a  startling  opposite  to 
that  sweet  pure  idyl.  And  now  this 
select  circle  seemed  agitated  as  by  an 
electric  shock.  There,  upon  the  stage, 
floated  the  Signora  Barbarina. 

The  king  raised  himself  involuntari- 
ly a  little  higher  in  his  arm-chair,  in  or- 
der to  examine  the  signora  more  close- 
ly; he  leaned  back,  however,  ashamed 
of  his  impatience,  and  a  light  cloud 
was  on  his  brow;  he  felt  himself  op- 
pressed and  overcome  by  this  magical 
beauty.  He  who  had  looked  death  in 
the  face  without  emotion,  who  had  seen 
the  deadly  cannon-balls  falling  thickly 
around  him  without  a  trembling  of  the 
eyelids,  now  felt  a  presentiment  of  dan- 
ger, and  shrank  from  it. 

Barbarina  was  indeed  lovely,  irresist- 
ably  lovely,  in  her  ravishing  costume 
of  shepherdess ;  her  dress  was  of  crim- 
son satin,  her  black  velvet  bodice  was 
fastened  over  her  voluptuous  bosom  by 
rich  golden  cords,  finished  off  by 
tassels  glittermg  with  diamonds,  A 
wreath  of  crimson  roses  adorned  her 
hair,  which  feU.  in  graceful  ringlets 
about  her  wondrous  brow,  and  formed 
a  rich  frame  around  her  pure,  oval  face. 
The  dark  incarnate  of  her  full,  ripe  lip 
contrasted  richly  with  the  light,  rosy 
blush  of  her  fair,  smooth  cheek.  Bar- 
barina's  smile  was  a  promise  of  lovr 
and  bliss ;  and,  when  those  great  fierj 
eyes  looked  at  you  earnestly,  there  was 
such  an  intense  glow,  such  a  de|jth  of 
power  and  passion  in  their  rays,  you 
could  not  but  feel  that  there  was  dan- 
ger in  her  love  as  in  her  scorn. 

To-day,  she  would  neither  threaten 
nor  inspire;  she  was  only  a  smiling, 


u 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


joyous,  simple  peasant  -  girl,  wbo  bad 
returned  with  joy  to  her  native  village, 
and  whose  rapture  found  expression  in 
the  gay  and  graceful  mazes  of  the 
dance.  She  floated  here  and  there, 
like  a  wood-nymph,  smiling,  happy, 
careless,  wonderful  to  look  upon  in  her 
loveliness  and  beauty,  but  more  won- 
derful still  in  her  art.  Simplicity  and 
grace  marked  every  movement;  there 
seemed  no  difficulties  in  her  path  —  to 
dance  was  her  happiness. 

The  dance  was  at  an  end.  Barbarina, 
breathless,  glowing,  smiling,  bowed 
low.  Then  all  was  still ;  no  hand  was 
moved,  no  applause  greeted  her.  Her 
great  burning  eyes  wandered  threaten- 
ingly and  questioningly  over  the  sa- 
loon ;  then,  raising  her  lovely  head 
proudly,  she  stepped  back. 

The  curtain  fell,  and  now  all  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  the  king,  in  whose 
face  the  courtiers  expected  to  read  the 
impression  which  the  signora  had  made 
upon  him ;  but  the  countenance  of  the 
king  told  nothing;  he  was  quiet  and 
thoughtful,  his  brow  was  stern,  and  his 
lips  compressed.  The  courtiers  con- 
cluded that  he  was  disappointed,  and 
began  at  once  to  find  fault,  and  make 
disparaging  remarks.  Frederick  did 
not  regard  them.  At  this  moment  he 
was  not  a  king,  he  was  only  a  man — a 
man  who,  in  silent  rapture,  had  gazed 
upon  this  wondrous  combination  of 
grace  and  beauty.  The  king  was  a 
hero,  but  he  trembled  before  this  wo- 
man, and  a  sort  of  terror  laid  hold  upon 
him. 

The  curtain  rose,  and  the  second  act 
of  the  drama  began ;  no  one  looked  at 
the  stage ;  after  this  living,  breathing, 
impersonation  of  a  simple  story,  a  spo- 
ken drama  seemed  oppressive.  Every 
one  rejoiced  when  the  second  act  was 
at  an  end.  The  curtain  would  soon 
rise  for  Barbarina. 

But  this  did  not  occur  ;  there  was  a 
long  delay;  there  Mas  eager  expecta- 


tion ;  the  curtain  did  not  rise ;  the  bell 
did  not  ring.  At  last,  Baron  Swai-tz 
crossed  the  stage  and  drew  near  to  the 
king. 

"  Sire,''  said  he,  "  the  Signora  Bar- 
barina declares  she  will  not  dance 
again;  she  is  exhausted  by  grief  and 
anxiety,  and  fatigued  by  her  journey." 

"  Go  and  say  to  her  that  I  command 
her  to  dance,"  said  Frederick,  who  felt 
himself  once  more  a  king,  and  rejoiced 
in  his  power  over  this  enchantress,  who 
almost  held  him  in  her  toils. 

Baron  Swartz  hastened  behind  the 
scenes,  but  soon  returned,  somewhat 
cast  down. 

"  Sire,  the  signora  affirms  that  she 
will  not  dance,  and  that  the  king  has 
no  power  to  compel  her.  She  dances 
to  please  herself." 

"  Ah  !  that  is  a  menace,"  said  the 
king,  threateningly;  and  without  fur- 
ther speech  he  stepped  upon  the  stage, 
followed  by  Baron  Swartz.  "  Where  is 
this  person  ?  "  said  the  king. 

"  She  is  in  her  own  room,  yonr  ma- 
jesty ;  shall  I  call  her  ? " 

"  No,  I  will  go  to  her.  Show  me  the 
way." 

The  baron  stepped  forward,  and 
Frederick  endeavored  to  collect  him- 
self and  assume  a  cool  and  grave  bear- 
ing. 

"  Sire,  this  is  the  chamber  of  the 
Signora  Barbarina." 

"  Open  the  door."  But  before  the 
baron  had  time  to  obey  the  command, 
the  imjiatient  hand  of  the  king  had 
opened  the  door,  and  he  had  entered 
tl  e  room. 


CHAPTER  IX 

rHE  KING   AND  BAKBAKUSA. 

Barbarina  was  resting,  half  reclin- 
ing, and  wholly  abstracted,  upon  a 
small  crimson  divan ;  her  rounded  arms 


FUEDERICK  THE   GREAT  AXD   HIS  FKIENDS. 


47 


were  u^os^3ed  over  her  breast.  She  fixed 
her  blazing,  glowing  eyes  upon  the  in- 
truders, and  seemed  petrified,  in.  her 
stubborn  immobility,  her  determined 
silence.  She  had  the  glance  of  a  pan- 
ther who  has  prepared  herself  for 
death,  or  to  slay  her  enemy. 

The  king  stood  a  moment  quiet  and 
waiting,  but  Barbarina  did  not  move. 
Baron  Swartz,  alarmed  by  her  contempt- 
uous and  disrespectful  bearing,  drew 
near,  in  order  to  say  that  the  king  had 
vouchsafed  to  visit  her,  but  Frederick 
motioned  him  to  withdraw  ;  and,  in  or- 
der that  Barbarina  might  not  under- 
stand him,  he  told  him  in  German  to 
leave  the  room  and  await  him  in  the 
corridor. 

"  I  do  not  wish  the  signora  to  know 
that  I  am  the  king,"  said  he.  As  the 
baron  withdrew,  Frederick  said  to  him, 
"  Leave  the  door  open." 

Barbarina  w^as  motionless,  only  her 
large  black  eyes  wandered  questioning- 
ly  from  one  to  the  other ;  she  sought  to 
read  the  meaning  of  their  words,  not 
one  of  which  she  understood ;  but  her 
features  expressed  no  anxiety,  no  dis- 
quiet ;  she  did  not  look  like  a  culprit 
or  a  rebel ;  she  had  rather  the  air  of  a 
stern  queen,  withholding  her  royal  fa- 
vor. The  king  drew  near  her.  Her 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  with  inex- 
pressible, earnest  calm;  and  this  cool 
indiflference,  so  rarely  seen  by  a  king, 
embarrassed  Frederick,  and  at  the 
same  time  intoxicated  him. 

"You  are,  then,  really  determined 
not  to  dance  again  ? "  inquired  the 
king. 

"  Fully  determined,"  said  she,  in  a 
rich  and  sonorous  voice. 

"  Beware  !  beware ! "  said  he ;  but  he 
could  not  assume  that  threatening  tone 
which  he  wished.  "The  king  may 
perhaps  compel  you." 

"  Compel  me !  me,  the  Barbarina  ! " 
said  she,  with  a  mocking  laugh,  and 
disclosing  two  rows  of  pearly  teeth. 


"  And  how  can  the  king  compel  me  to 
dance  ? " 

"You  must  be  convinced  that  he  has 
some  power  over  you,  since  he  brought 
you  here  against  your  will." 

"  Yes,  that  is  true,"  said  she,  raising 
herself  up  proudly;  "he  brought  me 
here  by  force ;  he  has  acted  like  a  bar- 
barian, a  cold-blooded  tyrant  I " 

"  Signora,"  said  Frederick  menacing- 
ly, "  one  does  not  speak  in  this  manner 
of  kings." 

"  And  why  not  ? "  she  said,  passion- 
ately. "  What  is  your  king  to  me  ? 
What  claim  has  he  upon  my  love,  upon 
my  consideration,  or  even  my  obedi- 
ence ?  What  has  he  done  for  me,  that 
I  should  regard  him  otherwise  than  as 
a  tyrant  ?  What  is  he  to  me  ?  I  am  my- 
self a  queen ;  yes,  and  believe  me,  a 
proud  and  an  obstinate  one !  AVho 
and  what  is  this  king,  whom  I  do  not 
know,  whom  I  have  never  seen,  who 
has  forgotten  that  I  am  a  woman,  yes, 
forgotten  that  he  is  a  man,  though  he 
bears  the  empty  title  of  a  king  ?  A  truo 
king  is  always  and  only  a  gallant  cava- 
lier ui  his  conduct  to  women.  If  he 
fails  in  this,  he  is  contemptible  and 
despised." 

"  How  I  you  despise  the  king  ? "  said 
Frederick,  who  really  enjoyed  this  un- 
accustomed scene. 

"  Yes,  I  despise  him !  yes,  I  hate  him !  " 
cried  the  Barbarina,  with  a  wild  and 
stormy  outbreak  of  her  southern  nature. 
"  I  no  longer  pray  to  God  for  my  own 
happiness ;  that  this  cruel  king  has  de- 
stroyed. I  pray  to  God  for  revenge ;  yes, 
for  vengeance  upon  this  man,  who  has 
no  heart,  and  who  tramples  the  hearts 
of  others  under  his  feet.  And  God  will 
help  me.  I  shall  revenge  myself  on 
this  man.  I  have  sworn  it — I  will  keep 
my  word  1  Go,  sir,  and  tell  this  to 
your  king ;  tell  him  to  beware  of  Bar- 
barina. Greater,  bolder,  and  more  mag- 
nanimous than  he,  I  warn  him! — 
Cunningly,  slyly,  unwarned,  by  night  I 


48 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


was  fallen  upon  by  spies,  and  dragged 
like  a  culprit  to  Berlin." 

The  king  had  no  wish  to  put  an  end 
to  this  piquant  scene ;  he  was  only  ac- 
customed to  the  voice  of  praise  and  of 
applause ;  it  was  a  novelty,  and  there- 
fore agreeable  to  be  so  energetically 
railed  at  and  abused. 

"Do  you  not  fear  that  the  king  will 
be  angry  when  I  repeat  your  words  ? " 

"Fear!  What  more  can  your  king 
do,  that  I  should  fear  him  ?  Yes,  he  is 
a  king ;  but  am  not  I  a  queen  ?  This 
paltry  kingdom  is  but  a  small  portion 
of  the  world,  which  is  mine,  wholly 
mine ;  it  belongs  to  me,  as  it  belongs  to 
the  eagle  who  spreads  her  proud  wings 
and  looks  down  upon  her  vast  do- 
mains ;  lie  has  millions  in  his  treasury, 
but  they  are  pressed  from  the  pockets 
of  his  poor  subjects ;  he  requii-es  many 
agents  to  collect  this  gold,  and  his  peo- 
ple give  it  grudgingly,  but  my  subjects 
bring  their  tribute  joyfully  and  lay  it 
at  my  feet  with  loving  words*  Look 
you !  look  at  these  two  little  feet :  they 
are  my  assessors ;  they  collect  the  taxes 
from  my  people,  and  all  the  dwellers 
in  Europe  are  mine.  These  are  my 
agents,  they  bring  me  in  millions  of 
gold;  they  are  also  my  avengers,  by 
their  aid  I  shall  revenge  myself  on 
your  barbaric  king." 

She  leaned  back  upon  the  pillows  and 
breathed  audibl}-,  exhausted  by  her  wild 
passion.  The  king  looked  at  her  with 
wonder.  She  was  to  him  a  rare  and 
precious  work  of  art,  something  to  be 
studied  and  worshipped.  Her  alluring 
beauty,  her  impetuous,  uncontrolled 
passions,  her  bold  -  sincerity,  were  all 
attractions,  and  he  felt  himself  under 
the  spell  of  her  enchantments.  Let  her 
rail  and  swear  to  be  revenged  on  the 
barbarian.  The  king  heard  her  not ; 
a  simple  gentleman  stood  before  her; 
a  man  who  felt  that  Barbarina  was  right, 
and  who  confessed  to  himself  that  the 
kins;  had  forgotten,  in  her  rude  seizure, 


that  the  Barbarina  was  a  woman — for- 
gotten that  he,  in  all  his  relations  with 
women,  should  be  only  a  cavalier. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Barbarina,  and  an 
expression  of  triumph  was  painted  on 
her  lips — "  yes,  my  little  feet  will  be  my 
avengers.  The  king  will  never  more 
see  them  dance  —  never  more;  they 
have  cost  him  thousands  of  gold;  ))e- 
cause  of  them  he  is  at  variance  with  the 
noble  Republic  of  Venice,  Well,  he  has 
seen  them  for  the  last  time  Ah  !  it  is  a 
light  thing  to  subdue  a  province,  but 
impossible  to  conquer  a  woman  and  an 
artiste  who  is  resolved  not  to  surren- 
der." 

Frederick  smiled  at  these  proud 
words, 

'■  So  you  will  not  dance  before  the 
king,  and  yet  you  have  danced  for  him 
this  evening  ? " 

"Yes,"  said  she,  raising  her  head 
proudly,  "  I  have  proved  to  him  that  I 
am  an  artiste  ;  only  when  he  feels  that, 
will  it  pain  him  never  again  to  see  me 
exercise  my  art." 

"  That  is,  indeed,  refined  reasoning," 
said  the  king.  "  You  danced,  then,  in 
order  to  make  the  king  thirst  anew  for 
this  intoxicating  draught,  and  then 
deny  him?  Truly,  one  must  be  an 
Italian  to  conceive  this  plan." 

"  I  am  an  Italian,  and  woe  to  me 
that  I  am !  "  A  storm  of  tears  gushed 
from  here  yes,  but  in  a  moment,  as  if 
scorning  her  own  weakness,  she  drove 
them  back  into  her  heart.  "  Poor  Ital- 
ian," she  said,  in  a  soft,  low  tone — 
"  poor  child  of  the  South,  what  are  you 
doing  in  tbis  cold  North,  among  these 
frosty  hearts  whose  icy  smiles  petrify 
art  and  beauty  ?  Ah !  to  think  that 
even  the  Barbarina  could  not  melt  the 
ice-rind  from  their  pitiful  souls;  to 
think  that  she  disijlayed  before  them 
all  the  power  and  grace  of  her  art,  and 
they  looked  on  with  motionless  hands 
and  silent  lips !  Ah  !  this  humiliation 
would  have  killed  me  in  Italy,  because 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


49 


I  love  my  people,  and  they  understand 
md  appreciate  all  that  is  rare  and  beau- 
tiful. My  heart  burns  with  scorn  and 
?ontempt  for  these  torpid  Berliners." 

"I  understand  you  now,"  said  the 
lang;  "  you  heard  no  bravos,  you  were 
not  applauded;  therefore  you  are  an- 
i?ry  ? " 

"  I  laugh  at  it !  "  said  she,  looking 
fiercely  at  the  king.  "  Do  you  not  know 
sir,  that  this  applause,  these  bravos,  are 
to  the  artiste  as  the  sound  of  the  trumpet 
to  the  gallant  war-horse,  they  invigo- 
rate and  inspire,  and  swell  the  heart  with 
strength  and  courage  ?  When  the  artiste 
stands  upon  the  stage,  the  saloon  before 
him  is  his  heaven,  and  there  his  judges 
sit,  to  bestow  eternal  happiness  or  eter- 
nal condemnation  ;  to  crown  him  with 
immortal  fame,  or  cover  him  with  shame 
and  confusion.  Now,  sir,  that  I  have 
explained  to  you  that  the  stage  saloon 
is  our  heaven,  and  the  spectators  are 
our  judges,  you  will  understand  that 
these  bravos  are  to  us  as  the  music  of 
the  spheres." 

"  Yes,  I  comprehend,"  said  the  king, 
smiling ;  "  but  you  must  be  indulgent ; 
in  this  theatre  etiquette  forbids  ap- 
plause. You  have  danced  to-day  before 
an  invited  audience,  who  pay  nothing, 
and  therefore  have  not  the  right  to 
blame  or  praise ;  no  one  dare  applaud 
— no  one  but  the  king." 

"  Ha !  and  this  rude  man  did  not  ap- 
plaud I  "  cried  she,  showing  her  small 
teeth,  and  raising  her  hand  threaten- 
jigly  toward  heaven. 

"  Perhaps  he  was  motionless  and 
drunk  from  rapture,"  said  the  king, 
bowing  gracefully ;  "  when  he  sees  you 
dance  again,  he  will  have  more  control 
over  himself,  and  will,  perhaps,  applaud 
you  heartily." 

''  Perhaps  ? "  cried  she.  "  I  shall  not 
expose  myself  to  this  '  perhaps.'  I  will 
dance  no  more.  My  foot  is  sore,  and 
your  king  cannot  force  me  to  dance." 

"  No,  he  cannot  force  you,  but  you 

4 


will  do  it  willingly ;  you  will  danco 
for  him  again  this  evening,  of  your  own 
free  will." 

Barbarina  answered  by  one  burst  of 
wild,  demoniac  laughter,  expressive  of 
her  scorn  and  her  resentment, 

"  You  will  dance  again  this  evening," 
repeated  Frederick,  and  his  keen  eye 
gazed  steadily  into  that  of  Barbarina, 
who,  though  weeping  bitterly,  shook 
her  lovely  head,  and  gave  him  back 
bravely  glance  for  glance.  "  You  will 
dance,  Barbarina,  because,  if  you  do 
not,  you  are  lost.  I  do  not  mean  by 
this  that  you  are  lost  because  the  king 
will  punish  you  for  your  obstinacy. 
The  king  is  no  Bluebeard ;  he  neither 
murders  women  nor  confines  them  in  un- 
derground prisons ;  he  has  no  torture- 
chambers  ready  for  you ;  for  the  King 
of  Prussia,  whom  you  hate  so  fiercely, 
has  abolished  the  torture  throughout 
his  kingdom — the  torture  which  still 
flouiishes  luxuriantly  by  the  side  of 
oranges  and  myrtles  in  your  beautiful 
Italy.  No,  signora,  the  king  wUl  not 
punish  you  if  you  persist  in  your  obsti- 
nacy; he  will  only  send  you  away, 
that  is  all." 

"  And  that  is  my  only  wish,  all  that  I 
ask  of  Fate." 

"You  do  not  know  yourself.  You, 
who  are  an  artiste,  who  are  a  lovely 
woman,  who  are  ambitious,  and  look 
upon  fame  as  worth  striving  for,  you 
would  not  lose  your  power,  trample 
under  foot  your  ambition,  see  your  rare 
beauty  slighted,  and  your  enchanting 
grace  despised  ? " 

"  I  cannot  see  why  all  these  terrible 
things  will  come  to  pass  if  I  refuse  to 
dance  again  before  your  king." 

"  I  will  explain  to  you,  signora — listen. 
The  king  (however  contemptuously  you 
may  think  and  speak  of  him)  is  still  a 
man  upon  whom  the  eye*  of  all  Europe 
are  turned — that  is  to  say,"  he  added, 
with  a  gay  smile  and  a  graceful  bow, 
"  when  his  bold  eye  is  not  exactly  fixed 


50 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


upon  them,  signora.  The  voice  of  this 
king  has  some  weight  in  your  world, 
though,  <is  yet,  he  has  only  stolen  prov- 
Laces  and  women.  It  is  well  known 
that  the  king  had  so  irresistible  a  de- 
sire to  see  you.  and  to  admire  you,  that 
he  forgot  his  knightly  gallantry,  or  set 
it  aside,  and,  relying  only  upon  his 
right,  he  exacted  the  fulfilling  of  the 
contract  signed  by  your  own  lovely 
hand.  That  was,  perhaps,  not  worthy 
of  a  cavalier,  but  it  was  not  unjust. 
You  were  forced  to  obey.  Ycu  came 
to  Berlin  unwillingly,  that  I  confess ; 
but  you  have  this  evening  danced  be- 
fore the  king  of  your  own  free  will. 
This,  from  your  stand-point,  was  a  great 
mistake.  You  can  no  longer  say,  'I 
will  not  dance  before  the  king,  because 
I  wish  to  revenge  myself.'  You  have 
already  danced,  and  no  matter  with 
what  refinement  of  reason  you  may 
explain  this  false  step,  no  one  will  be- 
lieve you  if  the  king  raises  his  voice 
against  you ;  and  he  will  do  this,  believe 
me.  He  will  say :  '  I  brought  this  Bar- 
barina  to  Berlin.  I  wished  to  see  if  the 
world  had  gone  mad  or  become  child- 
ish, or  if  Barbarina  really  deserved  the 
enthusiasm  and  adoration  which  fol- 
lowed her  steps.  Well,  I  have  seen  her 
dance,  and  I  find  the  world  is  mad  in 
folly.  I  give  them  back  their  goddess 
—  she  does  not  suit  me.  She  is  a 
wooden  image  in  my  eyes.  I  wished  to 
capture  Terpsichore  herself,  and  lo,  I 
found  I  had  stolen  her  chambermaid ! 
I  have  seen  your  goddess  dance  once, 
and  I  am  weary  of  her  pirouettes  and 
minauderies.  Lo,  there,  thou  hast  that 
is  thine.' '' 

"  Sir,  sir  !"  cried  Barbarina  menacing- 
ly, and  springing  up  with  flamiug  eyes 
and  panting  breath. 

"  That  is  what  the  king  will  say," 
said  Frederick,  quietly.  "You  know 
that  the  voice  of  the  king  is  full  and 
strong;  it  will  resound  throughout 
Europe.    No  one  wiU  believe  that  you 


refused  to  dance.  It  will  be  said  that 
you  did  not  please  the  king;  this  will 
be  proved  by  the  fact  that  he  did  not 
applaud,  did  not  utter  a  single  bravo. 
In  a  word,  it  will  be  said  you  have 
made  &  fiasco.'''' 

Barbarina  sprang  from  her  seat  and 
laid  her  hand  upon  the  arm  of  the  king 
with  indescribable,  inimitable  grace  and 
passion. 

"  Lead  me  upon  the  stage — I  will 
dance  now.  Ah,  this  king  shall  not 
conquer  me,  shall  not  cast  me  down. 
No,  no  !  I  will  compel  him  to  applaud ; 
he  shall  confess  that  I  am  indeed  an 
artiste.  Tell  the  director  to  prepare — 
I  will  come  immediately  upon  the 
stage." 

Barbarina  was  right  when  she  com- 
pared the  artiste  to  a  war-horse.  At 
this  moment  she  did  indeed  resemble 
one ;  she  seemed  to  hear  the  sound  ot 
the  trumpet  calling  to  battle  and  to 
fame.  Her  cheeks  glowed,  her  nostrils 
dilated,  a  quick  and  violent  breathing 
agitated  her  breast,  and  a  nervous  and 
convulsive  trembling  for  action  was  seen 
in  every  movement.  The  king  observed 
and  comprehended  her.  He  under- 
stood her  tremor  and  her  haste ;  he  ap- 
preciated this  soul-thirsting  for  fame, 
this  fervor  of  ambition,  excited  by  the 
possibility  of  failure ;  her  boldness 
enraptured  him.  The  sincerity  and 
power  with  which  she  expressed  her 
emotions,  commanded  his  respect;  and 
while  the  king  payed  this  tribute  to  her 
intellectual  qualities,  the  man  at  the 
same  time  confessed  to  himself  that  her 
personal  attractions  merited  the  worship 
she  received.  She  was  beautiful,  en- 
dowed with  the  alluring,  gentle,  soft, 
luxurious,  and  at  the  same  time  modest 
beauty  of  the  Venus  Anadyomene,  the 
goddess  rising  from  the  sea. 

"Come,"  said  Frederick,  "give  me 
5rour  hand.  I  will  conduct  you,  and  I 
jjromise  you  that  this  time  the  kine 
will  applaud." 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT   AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


61 


Barbarina  did  not  reply.  In  the  fire 
•jf  her  impatience,  she  pressed  the  king 
jnward  toward  the  door.  Suddenly  she 
paused,  and  giving  him  an  enchanting 
smile,  she  said,  "  I  am,  without  doubt, 
much  indebted  to  you;  you  have 
warned  me  of  a  danger,  and  in  fact 
guarded  mo  from  an  abyss.  Truly  I 
think  this  was  not  done  for  my  sake, 
but  because  your  king  had  commanded 
that  I  should  dance.  Your  reasons 
were  well  grounded,  and  I  thank  you 
sincerely.  I  pray  you,  sir,  give  me  your 
name,  that  I  may  guard  it  in  my  mem- 
ory as  the  only  pleasant  association 
with  Berlin." 

"From  this  day,  signora,  you  will 
confess  that  you  owe  me  a  small  service. 
You  have  told  me  it  was  a  light  task  to 
win  provinces,  but  to  capture  and  sub- 
due a  woman  was  impossible.  I  hope 
now  I  shall  be  a  ht^ro  in  your  eyes :  I 
have  not  only  conquered  provinces,  I 
have  captured  a  woman  and  subdued 
her." 

Barbarina  was  neither  astonished  nor 
alarmed  at  these  words.  She  had  seen 
too  many  kings  and  princes  at  her  feet 
to  be  blinded  by  the  glitter  of  roy- 
alty. 

She  let  go  the  arm  of  the  king,  and 
said  calmly  and  coolly :  "  Sire,  I  do  not 
ask  for  pardon  or  grace.  The  possessor 
of  a  crown  must  wear  it,  if  he  demands 
that  it  should  be  acknowledged  and  re- 
spected, and  the  pomp  and  glare  of  roy- 
ality  is,  it  seems,  easily  veiled.  Besides, 
I  would  not  have  acted  otherwise,  had 
I  known  who  it  was  that  dared  intrude 
upon  me." 

"  I  am  convinced  of  that,"  said  Fred- 
erick, smiling.  "  You  are  a  queen  who 
has  but  small  consideration  for  the  little 
King  of  Prussia,  because  he  requires  so 
many  agents  to  impress  the  gold  from 
the  pockets  of  his  unwilling  subjects. 
You  are  right — my  agents  cost  me 
much  money,  and  bruig  small  tribute, 
while  yours  cost  nothing  and  yield  a 


rich  harvest.  Come,  signora,  your  as- 
sessors must  enter  upon  their  duties." 

He  nodded  to  Baron  Swartz,  who 
stood  in  the  corridor,  and  said  in  Ger- 
man, "The  signora  will  dance;  she 
must  be  received  with  respect  and 
treated  with  consideration."  He  gave 
a  light  greeting  to  Barbarina  and  re- 
turned to  the  saloon,  where  he  found 
the  last  act  of  the  drama  just  con- 
cluded. 

Every  eye  was  fixed  upon  the  king  as 
he  entered.  He  had  left  the  room  in 
anger,  and  the  courtiers  almost  trem- 
bled at  the  thought  of  his  fierce  dis- 
pleasure; but  Frederick's  brow  was 
clear,  and  an  expression  of  peace  and 
quiet  was  written  on  his  features.  He 
took  his  place  between  the  two  queens, 
muttered  a  few  words  of  explanation 
to  his  mother,  and  bowed  smilingly  to 
his  wife.  Poor  queen  !  i)oor  Elizabeth 
Christine  !  she  had  the  sharj)  eye  of  a 
loving  and  jealous  woman,  and  she  saw 
in  the  king's  face  what  no  one,  not  even 
Frederick  himself,  knew.  While  every 
eye  was  turned  upon  the  stage ;  while 
all  with  breathless  rapture  gazed  upon 
the  marvellous  beauty  and  grace  of 
Barbarina,  the  queen  alone  fixed  a 
stolen  and  trembling  glance  upon  the 
countenance  of  her  husband.  She  saw 
not  that  Barbarina,  insjiired  by  ambi- 
tion and  passion,  was  more  lovely,  more 
enchanting  than  before.  Her  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  face  of  her  husband,  now 
luminous  with  admiration  and  delight; 
she  saw  his  soft  smile,  and  the  iron  en- 
tered her  soul. 

Tlie  dance  was  at  an  end.  Barbarina 
came  forward  and  bowed  low ;  and  now 
something  happened  so  unheard  of,  so 
contrary  to  court  etiquette,  that  the 
master  of  ceremonies  was  filled  with 
surprise  and  disapprobation.  The  king 
applauded,  not  as  gracious  kings  ap- 
plaud generally,  by  laying  his  hands 
liglitly  together,  but  like  a  wild  enthu- 
siast who  wishes  to  confess  to  the  world 


62 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


that  he  is  bewildered,  enraptured.  He 
then  rose  from  his  chair,  and  turning  to 
the  princesses  and  generals  behind  him, 
he  said,  "  Gentlemen,  why  do  you  not 
applaud?"  and  as  if  these  magical 
words  had  released  the  hands  from  bon- 
dage and  given  life  to  the  wild  rapture 
of  applause  which  had  before  but  trem- 
bled on  the  lip,  the  wide  hall  rang  with 
the  j)laudits  and  enthusiastic  bravos  of 
the  spectators.  Barbarina  bowed  low 
and  still  lower,  an  expression  of  happy 
triumph  playing  upon  her  glowing  face. 

"  I  have  never  seen  a  more  beautiful 
woman,"  said  the  king,  as  he  sank  back, 
seemingly  exhausted,  in  his  chair. 

Queen  Elizabeth  pressed  her  lips  to- 
gether, to  suppress  a  cry  of  pain.  She 
had  heard  the  king's  words;  for  her 
they  had  a  deeper  meaning.  "  He  will 
love  her,  I  know  it,  I  feel  it !  "  she  said 
to  herself  as  she  returned  after  this 
eventful  evening  to  Schonhausen.  "  Oh, 
why  has  God  laid  upon  me  this  new 
trial,  this  new  humiliation  ?  Until  now, 
no  one  thought  the  less  of  me  because 
I  was  not  loved  by  the  king.  The 
world  said,  '  The  king  loves  no  woman, 
he  has  no  heart  for  love.'  From  this 
day  I  shall  be  despised  and  pitied. 
The  king  has  found  a  heart.  He 
knows  now  that  he  has  not  outlived  his 
yotrth ;  he  feels  that  he  is  young — that 
he  is  young  in  heart,  young  in  love ! 
Oh,  my  God !  and  I  too  am  young, 
and  love ;  and  I  must  shroud  my  heart 
in  resignation  and  gloom." 

While  the  queen  was  pouring  out  her 
complaints  and  prayers  to  God,  the 
Swedish  ambassador  was  confiding  his 
svrath  to  his  king.  He  wrote  to  his 
sovereign,  and  repeated  to  him  the 
angry  and  abusive  words  of  the  little 
Princess  Amelia,  who  was  known  at  the 
court  as  the  little  April  Fee.  She  was 
more  changeable  than  April,  and  more 
stormy  and  imperious  than  Fi'ederick 
himself.  He  painted  skilfully  the  gen- 
tle and  attractive  bearing  of  the  Prin- 


cess Ulrica,  and  asked  for  permission 
to  demand  the  hand  of  this  gracious 
and  noble  princess  for  Adolph  Freder- 
ick. After  the  ambassador  had  writ- 
ten his  dispatches,  and  sent  them  by 
courier  to  the  Swedish  ship  lying  in 
the  sound,  he  said  to  himself,  with  a 
triumphant  smile:  "Ah,  my  little 
Princess  Amelia,  this  is  a  royal  punish- 
ment for  royal  impertinence.  You 
were  pleased  to  treat  me  with  contempt, 
but  you  did  not  know  that  I  could 
avenge  myself  by  depriving  you  of  a 
kingdom.  Ah,  if  you  had  guessed  my 
mission,  how  smilingly  you  would  have 
greeted  the  Count  Tessin  ! " 

The    gentlemen     diplomatists     are 
sometimes  outwitted. 


CHAPTER  X. 


The  reader  has  learned,  from  the 
foregoing  chapters,  what  a  splendid 
role  the  French  theatre  and  ballet  were 
now  playing  at  the  court  of  Berlin.  A 
superb  house  had  been  built  for  the 
Italian  opera  and  the  ballet,  a  stage 
had  been  prepared  in  the  king's  palace 
for  the  French  comedies,  and  every 
representation  was  honored  by  the 
presence  of  the  king,  the  royal  family, 
and  the  court  circle.  The  most  cele- 
brated singers  of  Italy,  the  most  grace- 
ful Parisian  dancers  were  now  to  be 
heard  and  seen  in  Berlin.  These  things 
assumed  such  vast  importance,  that  the 
king  himself  appeared  as  a  critic  in  the 
daily  journals,  and  his  ailicles  were  re- 
published in  the  foreign  papers.  While 
the  king  favored  the  strange  actors 
with  his  presence  and  his  grace,  the 
German  theatre,  like  a  despised  step- 
child, was  given  over  to  misery  and 
contempt.  Compelled  to  seek  an  asy- 
lum in  low  dark  saloons,  its  actors  had 
to  be  thankful  for  even  the  permissior 


FREDERICK   THE  GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS, 


53 


lo  exist,  and  to  plead  with  Apollo  and 
ihc  Muses  for  aid  and  applause.  The 
King  and  the  so-called  good  society 
despised  them  altogether.  But  this 
step-child  carried  under  her  ashes  and 
ragged  garments  the  golden  robes  of 
her  future  greatness ;  her  cunning  step- 
sisters had  cast  her  down  into  obscuri- 
ty and  want,  but  she  was  not  extin- 
guished; she  could  not  be  robbed  of 
her  future  1  Only  a  few  propitious  cir- 
cumstances were  necessary  to  enable 
her  to  shake  the  dust  from  her  head, 
and  bring  her  kingly  crown  to  light. 

The  king  had  given  Schonemein 
permission  to  bring  his  company  to 
Berlin;  and  by  a  happy  chance,  Schone- 
mein had  engaged  the  young  and 
talented  actor  Eckhof  for  the  season. 
Eckhof  was  destined  to  give  renown  to 
the  German  theatre;  he  was  justly 
called  the  first  and  greatest  actor  in 
Germany.  Alas,  how  much  of  misery, 
how  much  of  humiliation,  how  many 
choking  tears,  how  much  suffering  and 
care,  how  much  hunger  and  thirst  were 
then  comprised  in  that  one  word,  a 
"  German  actor ! "  None  but  a  lost  or 
despairing  man,  or  an  enthusiast,  would 
enroll  himself  as  a  German  actor;  only 
when  he  had  nothing  more  to  lose,  and 
was  willing  to  burn  his  ships  behind 
him,  could  he  enter  upon  that  thorny 
path.  Religion  and  art  have  always 
had  their  martyrs,  and  truly  the  Ger- 
man actora  were  martyrs  in  the  time  of 
Frederick  the  Great.  Blessings  upon 
those  who  did  not  despair,  and  took  up 
their  cross  patiently ! 

The  French  comedy  and  the  Italian 
opera  flourished  like  the  green  bay-tree. 
The  German  actors  took  refuge  in  the 
saloon  of  the  Council-house.  The  light- 
ing up  of  the  Royal  Opera-house  cost 
two  hundred  and  sevenly-seven  florins 
every  night.  The  misty  light  of  swel- 
tering oil-lamps  illuminated  the  poor 
isaioon  of  the  Council  house. 

The  audience  of  the  German  theatre 


was  composed  of  burghers,  philoso- 
phers, poets,  bankers,  and  clerks — the 
people  of  the  middle  classes,  who  wore 
no  white  plumes  in  their  hats ;  they 
were  indeed  allowed  to  enter  the 
opera-house,  but  through  a  side  passage, 
and  their  boxes  were  entirely  separate 
from  those  of  the  court  circle.  These 
people  of  the  middle  classes  seemed 
obscure  and  unimportant,  but  they 
were  educated  and  intelligent;  even 
then  they  were  a  power;  proud  and 
independent,  they  could  not  be  bribed 
by  flattery,  nor  blinded  by  ghtter  and 
pomp.  They  judged  the  king  as  they 
judged  the  beggar,  the  philosopher 
as  they  did  the  artist,  and  they  judged 
boldly  and  well. 

This  jDublic  voice  had  declared  that 
Eckhof  was  a  great  tragedian,  who  ri- 
valled successfully  the  great  French 
actor.  Monsieur  Dennis.  This  public 
voice,  though  but  the  voice  of  the  peo- 
ple, found  entrance  everywhere,  even  in 
the  saloons  of  the  nobles  and  cabinets 
of  i)rinces.  Berlin  resounded  with  the 
name  of  Eckhof,  who  dared  to  rival  the 
French  actor,  and  with  the  name  of 
Schonemein,  who  dared,  every  time  a 
drama  of  Comeille  or  Racine,  of  Mo- 
lifere  or  Voltaire,  was  given  in  the  pal- 
ace theatre,  to  represent  the  same  in  the 
Council-house  on  the  following  evening. 
This  was  a  good  idea.  Those  who  had 
been  so  fortunate  as  to  witness  the  per- 
formance at  the  palace,  wished  to  com- 
pare the  glittering  spectacle  with  the 
poor  caricature,  as  they  were  pleased  to 
call  it,  in  the  Council-house.  Those 
whose  obscure  position  prevented  them 
from  entering  the  French  theatre, 
wished  at  least  to  see  the  play  which 
had  enraptured  the  king  and  court; 
they  must  be  content  with  the  copy, 
somewhat  like  the  hungrj'^  beggar  who 
stands  before  the  kitchen  door,  and  re- 
freshes himself  by  smelling  the  roast 
beef  he  cannot  hope  to  taste.  But  there 
was  still  a  third  class  who  visited  the 


54 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI,    OR, 


German  theatre,  not  m  derision,  not 
from  curiosity,  not  from  a  desire  to  im- 
itate the  nobles  in  their  amusements, 
but  "with  the  seemirgly  Utopian  hope 
of  building  up  the  German  drama. 
Amongst  these  were  the  scholars,  who 
pronounced  the  dramas  of  Gottsched 
far  superior  to  those  of  Corneille  and 
Racine;  there Avere  the  German  patriots, 
who  would  not  grant  a  smile  to  the  best 
representation  of  "'Z^  Malade  Lnagi- 
naire,^''  but  declared  "  The  Hypochon- 
driac," by  Guistorp,  the  wittiest  drama 
in  the  world.  In  short,  this  large  class 
of  men  ranged  themselves  in  bold  op- 
position to  the  favoritism  shown  to 
Frenchmen  by  Frederick  the  Great. 
These  were  the  elements  which  com- 
posed the  audience  in  the  Council- 
house. 

One  afternoon,  just  before  the  open- 
ing of  the  theatre,  two  young  men  were 
walking  arm-in-arm  in  the  castle  court ; 
with  one  of  them  we  are  already  ac- 
quainted, Joseph  Fredersdorf,  the  merry 
student  of  Halle,  the  brother  of  the 
private  secretary — he  who  had  been 
commissioned  to  seek  the  black  ram, 
for  the  propitiation  of  the  devil.  In 
obedience  to  the  command  of  the  sec- 
retary, he,  with  ten  other  members  of 
this  unholy  alliance,  had  been  searching 
in  every  quarter  for  this  sacrifice.  Jo- 
seph Fredersdorf,  indebted  to  fortune 
or  his  own  adroitness,  was  the  first  to 
return  from  his  wanderings,  and  he 
brought  with  him  a  black  ram,  on  whose 
glossy  coat  the  sharpest  eye  could  not 
detect  one  white  hair. 

Fredersdorf,  and  Baron  Kleist,  the 
husband  of  the  lovely  Louise  von 
Schwerin,  were  truly  happy,  and  paid 
willingly  some  hundred  thalers  for  this 
coveted  object.  Indeed,  they  consid- 
ered this  a  very  small  interest  to  pay 
for  the  large  capital  which  they  would 
soon  realize.  They  were  the  principal 
leaders  in  the  secret  conspiracy  for  gold- 
making,  and  many  other  most  distin- 


guished nobles,  generals,  and  officers 
belonged  to  the  society.  Fredersdorf 
was  resolved  to  fathom  this  mystery ; 
he  wnshed  to  buy  himself  free  from  hia 
service  to  the  king,  and  wed  the  woman 
he  had  long  so  passionately  loved, 
Kleist  was  riotous  and  a  spendthrift ; 
he  felt  that  gold  alone  would  enable 
him  to  buy  smiles  and  rapture  from 
this  worn-out  and  wearisome  world. 
Kleist  and  his  beautiful  wife  required 
money  in  large  measure;  she  had  been 
a  faithful  companion  and  aid — ^had 
stood  by  honestly  and  assisted  in  the 
waste  of  her  own  property;  and  now 
they  were  compelled  to  confine  them- 
selves to  the  small  income  of  captain  of 
the  king's  guard. 

Joseph  laughed,  chatted,  and  jested 
with  his  young  companion,  who  walked 
by  his  side  with  modest  and  downcast 
eyes.  Joseph  sometimes  put  his  hand 
merrily  under  the  dimpled  chins  of  the 
rosy  servant-girls  who  passed  them  from 
time  to  time,  or  peeped  rather  imperti- 
nently under  the  silk  hoods  of  the 
burgher  maidens;  his  comijanion 
blushed  and  took  no  part  In  these  bold 
pastimes. 

"Truly,"  said  Joseph,  "if  I  did  not 
have  in  my  pocket  a  letter  from  my 
former  room-mate  at  Halle,  introducing 
you  as  a  manly,  brave  boy,  and  a  future 
light  in  the  world  of  science,  I  should 
suspect  you  were  a  disguised  maiden  ; 
you  blush  like  a  girl,  and  are  as  timid 
as  a  lamb  which  has  never  left  its 
mother's  side." 

"I  am  a  villager,  a  poor  provincial," 
said  the  youth,  in  a  somewhat  maidenly 
voice.  "The  maimers  of  your  great 
city  embaiTass  me.  I  admire  but  can- 
not imitate  them.  I  have  been  alwaya 
a  recluse,  a  dusty  bookworm." 

"  A  learned  monster !  "  cried  Joseph, 
mockingly,  "who  knows  and  under- 
stands every  thing  except  the  art  of 
enjoying  life.  I  acknowledge  that  you 
are  greatly  my  superior,  but  I  can  in- 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT   AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


55 


struct  you  in  that  science.  Tou  have 
been  so  strongly  commended  to  me, 
that  I  -will  at  once  commence  to  unfold 
to  you  the  real,  satisfying  duties  and 
pleasures  of  life." 

"  I  fear,"  said  the  youth,  "  your  sci- 
ence is  beyond  my  ability.  I  have  no 
organ  for  it.  My  father  is  a  celebrated 
physician  in  Quedlinburg ;  he  would  be 
greatly  distressed  if  I  should  occupy 
myself  with  any  thing  else  than  philos- 
ophy and  the  arts.  I  myself  have  so 
little  inclination  and  so  little  ability  for 
the  enjoyment  of  mii'th  and  pleasure, 
that  I  dare  not  exchange  the  world  of 
books  for  the  world  of  men.  I  do  not 
not  understand  their  speech,  and  their 
manners  are  strange  to  me." 

'•  But,  without  doubt,  you  have  come 
to  Berlin  to  learn  something  of  these 
things?" 

"  No ;  I  have  come  to  visit  the  medi- 
cal college,  and  to  speak  with  the 
learned  and  renowned  Eiiler." 

••  Folly  and  nonsense ! "  said  Freders- 
dorf,  laughing;  ''keep  your  dry  pur- 
suits for  Halle,  and  give  your  time  and 
attention  to  that  which  you  cannot  find 
there,  gayety  and  amusement.  I  prom- 
ise to  be  your  counsellor  and  comrade. 
Let  us  begin  our  studies  at  once.  Do 
you  see  that  little  theatre-bill  fastened 
to  the  wall  ?  Eckhof  appears  as  Cato 
to-night." 

"  Go  to  the  theatre  ! "  said  Lupinus, 
shrinkingly.  "  Plow !  I  go  to  the  the- 
atre?" 

"  And  why  not,  friend  ? "  said  Joseph. 
"Perhaps  you  belong  to  the  pietists, 
who  look  upon  the  stage  as  the  mother 
of  blasphemy  and  sin,  and  who  rail  at 
our  noble  king  because  he  will  not  close 
these  houses  ? " 

"  No,  I  do  not  belong  to  the  pietists," 
aaid  the  youth,  with  a  sad  smile,  "  and 
I  try  to  serve  God  by  understanding 
and  admiring  His  works;  that  is  my 
religion." 

"  "Well,  it  seems  to  me  that  this  faith 


does  not  forbid  you  to  enter  the  thea- 
tre. K  it  pleases  you  to  study  God's 
master-work,  I  promise  to  show  you  this 
night  on  the  stage  the  noblest  exemplar. 
Eckhof  plays  this  evening." 

"  Who,  then,  is  Eckhof? " 

Joseph  looked  at  the  young  man 
with  surprise,  and  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders contemptuously. 

"You  have,  indeed,  been  greatlv  neg- 
lected, and  it  was  high  time  you  should 
come  to  me.  You  do  not  know,  then, 
that  Eckhof  is  the  first  tragedian  who 
has  dared  to  set  aside  the  old  and  ab- 
surd dress  and  manners  of  the  stage, 
and  introduce  real,  living,  feeling  men, 
of  like  passions  with  ourselves,  and  who 
move  and  speak  even  as  we  do.  Now 
we  must  certainly  enter  the  theatre; 
look  there,  at  that  great  crowd  entering 
the  dark  and  lowly  entrance  !  Let  ua 
remove  our  hats  reverentially ;  we  stand 
before  the  temple  of  art."  So  saying, 
he  drew  the  young  man,  who  had  no 
longer  courage  to  resist,  into  the  house. 
"  This  is  Eckhof 's  benefit.  You  see  the 
great  tragedian  has  many  admirers ;  it 
seems  to  me  that  half  Berlin  has  come 
to  bring  him  tribute  this  evening." 

Lupinus  sat  silent  and  confused  in  the 
parten-e,  near  Joseph.  There  was  a 
row  of  seats  slightly  elevated  and  made 
of  common  plank,  called  loges ;  one  of 
these  nearest  the  stage  was  adorned  by 
a  golden  eagle,  from  which  some  pitiful 
drapery  was  suspended ;  this  was  called 
the  king's  loge,  but  I  am  constrained  to 
say,  it  had  never  been  visited  by  the 
king  or  any  member  of  the  royal  family. 
The  royal  loge  was  indeed  empty,  but 
the  great  body  of  the  house  was  fear- 
fully crowded,  and  many  an  expression 
of  pain  was  heard  from  those  who  were 
closely  pressed  and  almost  trampled 
upon. 

"  It  is  forthnate  for  you  that  Eckhof 
appears  as  Cato  to-night ;  it  is  his  beat 
role.  Perhaps  your  learned  soul  ma^ 
be  somewhat  reconciled  to  such  vari- 


d6 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


ties  when  you  see  a  drama  of  Gottscbed, 
and  a  hero  of  the  old  and  classic  thne." 

"  Yes,  but  will  not  your  Eckhof  make 
a  vile  caricature  of  the  noble  Roman  ? " 
sighed  Lupinus. 

"  You  are  a  pedant,  and  I  trust  the 
Muses  will  revenge  themselves  upon 
you  this  night,"  said  Joseph,  angrily. 
"  I  prophesy  that  you  will  become  this 
evening  a  wild  enthusiast  for  Eckhof; 
that  is  always  the  punishment  for  those 
who  come  as  despisers  and  doubters. 
If  you  were  a  girl,  I  should  know  that 
you  would  be  passionately  in  love  with 
Eckhof  before  you  slept;  you  have 
taken  the  first  step,  by  hating  him." 

Joseph  said  this  thoughtlessly,  and 
did  not  remark  the  deep  imjiression  his 
words  made  upon  the  stranger.  His 
face  flushed,  and  his  head  sank  upon 
his  breast.  Joseph  saw  nothing  of  this. 
At  this  moment  the  cuilain  rose  and 
the  piece  began. 

A  breathless  silence  reigned  through- 
out the  vast  crowd ;  every  eye  was  fixed 
upon  the  stage ;  and  now,  with  a  stately 
step  and  a  Roman  toga  falling  in  artis- 
tic folds  from  his  shoulders,  Eckhof  as 
Cato  stood  before  them.  Every  thing 
about  him  was  antique ;  his  noble  and 
proud  bearing,  his  firm  and  measured 
step,  his  slow  but  easy  movements,  even 
the  form  of  his  head  and  the  expression 
of  his  finely-cut  features,  were  eminently 
classic.  He  was  the  complete  and  per- 
fect picture  of  an  old  Roman ;  nothing 
was  forgotten.  The  sandals,  laced  with 
red  over  the  powerful  and  well-foi'med 
leg;  the  white  under-garment  and 
leathern  girdle,  the  blue  toga,  the  cut 
of  his  hair,  every  thing  brought  before 
you  the  noble  Roman,  the  son  of  Lib- 
erty, imposing  in  his  majesty  and 
power. 

Eckhof  was  the  first  who  had  the 
courage  to  clothe  his  characters  in  the 
costume  of  the  time  they  represented, 
to  make  them  move  and  speak  simply 
as  men.    Eckhof  did  that  for  the  Ger- 


man stage  which  some  years  later  Tal- 
ma introduced  on  the  French  boards. 
Talma  was  only  a  copyist  of  Eckhof, 
but  this  fact  was  not  acknowledged, 
because  at  that  time  the  German  stage 
had  not  won  for  itself  the  sympathy  and 
consideration  of  other  nations. 

As  I  have  said,  silence  reigned,  and 
from  time  to  time  the  rapture  of  ap- 
plause, which  could  not  be  altogether 
suppressed,  was  evidenced  by  thunder- 
ing bravos.  Then  again  aU  was  still ; 
every  eye  and  every  ear  were  ojaen  to 
the  great  actor,  true  to  himself  and  true 
to  nature;  who,  glowing  with  enthusi- 
asm, had  cast  his  whole  soul  intb  his 
part;  who  had  forgotten  the  line  sepa- 
rating imagination  from  reality;  who 
had,  indeed,  ceased  to  be  Eckhof,  and 
felt  and  thought  and  spoke  as  Cato. 
At  the  close  of  an  act  Eckhof  was 
forced  to  come  forward  and  show  him- 
self by  the  wild  and  stormy  applause 
and  loud  cries  of  the  audience. 

"Do  you  not  find  him  beyond  all 
praise  ?  "  said  Fredersdorf. 

Lupinus  gazed  steadily  at  the  stage; 
he  had  only  soul,  breath,  hearing  for 
Eckhof.  His  old  world  had  passed 
away  like  a  misty  dream — a  new  world 
surrounded  him.  The  olden  time,  the 
olden  time  to  which  he  had  consecrated 
years  of  study  and  of  thought,  to  which 
he  had  offered  up  his  sleep  and  all  the 
pleasures  of  youth,  had  now  become  a 
reality  for  him.  He  who  stood  upon 
the  stage  was  Cato;  that  was  the  Ro- 
man forum ;  there  were  the  proud  tem- 
ples, and  the  dwelling-houses  conse- 
crated by  their  household  gods.  There 
was,  then,  outside  of  the  world  of  books 
and  letters,  another  world  of  light  and 
gladness !  What  was  it  which  made 
his  heart  beat  and  tremble  so  power- 
fully ?  why  did  his  blood  rush  so  madly 
through  his  veins  ?  A  dark  veil  had 
fallen  from  his  face;  all  around  him 
was  light,  life,  gladness,  and  rapture, 
With  trembling  lips  and  silent  tcjvrs  he 


FREDEKICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIEXDS. 


57 


said  to  himself:  "  I  -will  live;  I  will  be 
young;  I  will  turn  to  Eckhof ;  he  shall 
counsel  me,  and  I  will  follow  his  advice 
as  I  would  a  holy  gospel. — Did  you  not 
say  that  you  knew  Cato  ? "  said  he,  sud- 
denly awaking  from  his  dream  and 
turning  to  his  companion. 

"Cato?"  said  Fredersdorf  "Do 
you  mean  the  drama,  or  that  weari- 
some old  fellow  himself?  or  Eckhof, 
who  plays  the  jjart  of  Cato  ?  " 

"  So  it  is  Eckhof,"  said  Lupinus,  to 
himself;  "  he  is  called  Eckhof?  " 

The  play  was  at  an  end ;  the  curtain 
fell  for  the  last  time,  and  now  the  long- 
suppressed  enthusiasm  burst  forth  in 
wild  and  deafening  applause.  The 
young  stranger  was  silent,  his  eyes 
were  full  of  tears ;  and  yet  he  was  per- 
haps the  happiest  of  them  all,  and  these 
rapturous  tears  were  a  loftier  tribute  to 
the  great  actor  than  the  loudest  bravos. 
The  people  had  passed  a  happy  even- 
ing, and  common  cares  and  sorrows  had 
been  forgotten ;  but  Lupinus  felt  as  if 
his  heart  had  risen  from  the  dead : 
he  was  changed  from  old  age  to  sun- 
ny youth  ;  he  had  suddenly  discovered 
in  himself  something  new,  something 
never  suspected  —  a  glowing,  loving 
heart. 

"  "Well,  now  I  am  resolved,  wholly 
resolved,"  said  Joseph,  as  they  forced 
their  way  through  the  crowd.  "  I  no 
longer  hesitate ;  I  give  up  to  you  your 
dry  learning  and  philosophy;  you  are 
welcome  to  your  dusty  books  and 
your  imposing  cues.  I  will  be  an  ac- 
tor." 

"  Ha  I  an  actor  ? "  said  Lupinus, 
awaking  fi*pm  his  dream  and  trembling 
violently. 

"Why  are  you  shocked  at  my 
words  ?  I  suppose  you  despise  me  be- 
cause of  this  decision ;  but  what  do  I 
care?  I  will  be  an  artiste;  I  shall  not 
be  disturbed  by  the  tumed-up  noses 
and  derisive  shrugs  of  you  wise  ones. 
[  wiU  be  a  scholar  of  Eckhof;  so  de- 


spise me,  my  learned  Lupinus — ^I  give 
you  permission." 

"  I  am  not  laughing,"  said  Lupinus, 
"  Each  one  must  walk  in  that  path  at 
the  end  of  which  he  hopes  to  find  his 
ideal." 

"Yes,  truly,  and  so  I  will  go  to  Eck- 
hof," said  Fredersdoi-f,  waving  his  hat 
triumphantly  in  the  air. 

"Do  you  know  where  he  dwells?" 
said  the  youth. 

"Certainly.  We  are  standing  now 
just  before  his  door.  See  there  in  the 
third  story,  those  two  lighted  windows? 
That  is  Eckhofs  home." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  this  street  ?  " 

"  What  is  that  to  you  ?  Has  my 
prophecy  really  come  true,  and  are  you 
in  love  with  the  great  actor  ?  Do  not 
let  go  my  arm  ;  do  not  turn  away  from 
me  angrily.  The  Post  Strasse  is  a  long 
way  off  from  where  you  dwell;  you 
will  lose  yourself.  Let  us  go  together. 
I  will  risk  no  more  unseemly  jests  with 
you.     Come ! " 

"He  lives  in  the  Post  Strasse;  he  is 
called  Eckhof"  said  Lupinus  to  himself, 
as  he  took  Joseph's  arm  and  walked 
through  the  dark  streets.  "  I  must  see 
Eckhof;  he  shall  decide  my  fate." 


CHAPTER  XL 

A    LIFE     QUESTION. 

I'l  was  the  morning  after  Eckhofs 
benefit.  The  usually  quiet  dwelling  of 
the  actor  resounded  with  the  ringing 
of  glasses  and  merry  songs  after  the 
toils  and  fatigues  of  the  evening.  He 
wished  to  afford  to  himself  and  his 
comrades  a  little  distraction ;  to  give  to 
the  hungry  sons  of  the  Muses  and  Graces 
a  few  hours  of  simple  enjoyment. — 
Eckhofs  purse  was  full,  and  he  wished 
to  divide  its  contents  with  his  friends, 

"  Drink  and  be  merry,"  said  he  to  hia 


58- 


BERLI^    IND   SAN'SSOUCI;    OR, 


gay  companions.  "  Let  us  forget  for  a 
few  hours  that  we  are  poor,  despised 
German  actors.  "We  will  drink,  and 
picture  to  ourselves  that  we  belong  to 
the  cherished  and  celebrated  artistes  of 
the  French  stage,  on  whom  the  Ger- 
mans so  willingly  shower  gold,  honor, 
and  even  love.  Raise  your  glasses,  and 
drink  with  me  to  the  success  of  German 
art ! » 

"We  will  drink  also  to  Eckhof," 
cried  one  of  the  youthful  company, 
raising  his  glass.  "  Yes^  to  the  father 
of  the  new  school  of  Gemian  acting." 

"  You  are  that,  Eckhof,  and  you  are 
also  our  benefactor,"  said  another. 
"  We  thank  you,  that  for  some  months 
we  have  not  suffered  from  hunger  and 
thirst ;  that  the  good  people  of  Berlin 
take  an  interest  in  the  German  stage, 
and  treat  us  with  some  consideration. 
Let  us,  then,  drink  to  our  preserver,  to 
the  great  Eckhof!" 

Every  glass  was  raised,  and  their 
shouts  rang  out  merrily.  Eckhof  alone 
was  sad  and  troubled,  and  his  great 
dreamy  eyes  gazed  thoughtfully  in  the 
distance.  His  friends  observed  this, 
and  questioned  him  as  to  the  cause  of 
his  melancholy, 

"  I  am  not  melancholy,  though  a  Ger- 
man actor  has  always  good  reason  to  be 
BO ;  but  I  have  some  new  plans  which  I 
wish  to  disclose  to  you.  You  greet  me 
as  your  benefactor.  Alas!  how  suffer- 
ing, how  pitiful  must  your  condition  be, 
if  such  a  man  as  I  am  can  have  been 
useful  to  you !  You  are  all  artistes, 
and  I  say  this  to  you  from  honest  con- 
viction, and  not  from  contemptible 
flattery.  You  are  greater  in  your  art 
than  I  am,  only  you  had  not  the  cour- 
age to  break  through  the  old  and 
absurd  customs  of  your  predecessors. 
That  I  have  done  this,  that  I  have 
dared  to  leave  the  beaten  paths,  is  the 
only  service  I  have  rendered.  I  have 
iried  to  banish  from  the  stage  the  crazy 
fcols  who  strutted  from  side  to  side, 
I 


and  waved  their  arms  from  right  to  left  ; 
who  tried  to  play  the  orator  by  utter- 
ing  their  pathetic  phrases  in  weird, 
solemn  sounds  from  the  throat,  or 
trumpeted  them  through  the  nose.  I 
have  placed  living  men  upon  the 
boards,  who  by  natural  speech  and 
action  lend  truth  and  reality  to  the 
scenes  they  wish  to  portray.  You, 
comrades,  have  assisted  me  faithfully 
in  this  effort.  We  are  in  the  right 
path,  but  we  are  far  from  the  goal. 
Let  us  go  forward,  then,  bravely  and 
hopefully.  You  think  yourselves  hap- 
py now  at  Berlin ;  but  I  say  to  you  that 
we  dare  not  remain  in  Berlin.  This 
vegetation,  this  bare  permission  to  live, 
does  not  sufRce,  will  not  satisfy  our 
honor.  I  think  with  Cassar,  it  is  better 
to  be  the  first  in  a  village  than  the  sec- 
ond or  third  in  a  great  city.  We  will 
leave  Berlin ;  this  cold,  proud,  imperi- 
ous Berlin,  which  cherishes  the  stran- 
ger, but  has  no  kind,  cheering  word 
for  her  own  countrymen.  Let  us  turn 
our  backs  upon  these  French  worship- 
pers, and  go  as  missionaries  for  the 
German  drama  throughout  our  father- 
land." 

A  long  pause  followed  this  speech 
of  Eckhof;  every  eye  was  thoughtful, 
every  face  was  troubled. 

"  You  do  not  answer  ?  I  have  not, 
then,  convinced  you  ?  " 

"  Shall  we  leave  Berlin  now,"  said 
the  hero  and  lover  of  the  little  compa- 
ny, "even  now,  when  they  begin  to 
show  a  little  interest,  a  little  enthusi- 
asm for  us  ? " 

"Alas,  friend!  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
Berliners  for  us  is  like  a  fire  of  straw — 
it  flashes  and  is  extinguished;  to-day, 
perhaps,  they  may  applaud  us,  to-mor- 
row we  will  be  forgotten,  because  a 
learned  sparrow  or  hound,  a  French 
dancer,  or  an  Italian  singer,  occupies 
their  attention.  There  is  neither  en- 
durance nor  constancy  in  the  Berluierst 
Let  us  go  hence." 


FEEDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIE^jDS. 


59 


"  It  seems  to  me  we  sliould  make  use  | 
of  the  good  time  while  it  lasts,"  said 
another.  "  At  present,  our  daily  bread  is 
siicured  for  ourselves  and  our  families." 
"If  you  are  not  willing  to  endure 
suffering  and  want,"  said  Eckhof,  sad- 
ly, "you  will  never  be  a  true  artiste. 
Poverty  and  necessity  will  be  for  a 
long  time  to  come  the  only  faithful 
companions  of  the  German  actor ;  and 
he  who  has  not  courage  to  take  them 
to  his  arms,  would  do  better  to  become 
an  honest  tailor  or  a  shoemaker.  If 
the  prosperity  of  your  family  is  your 
first  consideration,  why  have  you  not 
contented  yourselves  with  honest  daily 
labor,  with  being  virtuous  fathers  of 
families  ?  The  pursuit  of  art  does  not 
accord  with  these  things;  if  you  choose 
the  one,  you  must,  for  a  while  at 
least,  be  separate  from  the  other." 

"That  will  we  do,"  cried  Freders- 
dorf,  who  had  just  entered  the  room  ; 
"  I,  for  my  part,  have  already  set  you  all 
a  good  example.  I  have  separated 
from  my  family,  in  order  to  become  the 
husband  of  Art,  whose  sighing  and  ar- 
dent lover  I  have  long  been  ;  and  now, 
if  the  noble  Eckhof  does  not  reject  me 
as  a  scholar,  I  am  wholly  yours." 

Eckhof  seized  his  hand,  and  said, 
with  a  soft  smile,  "  I  receive  you  joy- 
fully ;  you  have  the  true  fire  of  inspira- 
tion. From  my  heart  I  say  you  are 
welcome." 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  word — and 
now  let  us  be  off.  The  German  actor 
is  in  Germany  no  better  than  the  Jew 
was  to  the  Romans.  Let  us  do  as  the 
Jews:  we  have  also  found  our  Moses, 
who  will  lead  lis  to  the  promised  land, 
where  we  shall  find  liberty,  honor,  and 
gold." 

"Yes,"  they  cried,  with  one  voice, 
"  we  will  follow  Eckhof,  we  will  obey 
v>ar  master,  we  will  leave  Berlin  and 
seek  a  city  where  we  shall  be  truly 
aonored." 

"  I  have  found  the  city,"  said  Eck- 


hof; "  we  will  go  to  Halle.  The  wise 
men  who  have  consecrated  their  lives 
to  knowledge  are  best  fitted  to  appre- 
ciate and  treasure  the  true  artiste ;  we 
wiU  unite  with  them,  and  our  efforts 
will  transform  Halle  into  an  Athens, 
where  knowlerlge  and  art  shall  walk 
hand-in-hand  in  noble  emulation." 

"  Off,  then,  for  Halle  ! "  said  Freders- 
dorf,  waving  his  hat  in  the  air,  but  his 
voice  was  less  firm,  and  his  eye  was 
troubled.  "  WiU  the  director,  Schone- 
mein,  consent  ? " 

"  Schonemein  has  resolved  to  go  with 
us,  provided  we  make  no  claim  for  sal- 
aries, but  will  share  with  him  both 
gains  and  losses." 

"If  the  undertaking  fails  in  Halle, 
we  must  starve,  then,"  said  a  trembling 
voice. 

Eckhof  said  nothing ;  he  crossed  the 
room  to  his  writing-table,  and  took  out 
a  well-filled  purse.  "  I  do  not  say  that 
we  shall  succeed  in  Halle,  that  is,  suc- 
ceed as  the  merchants  and  Jews  do ;  we 
go  as  missionaries,  resolved  to  bear  him- 
ger  and  thirst,  if  need  be,  for  the  cause 
we  love  and  believe  in.  Look,  this 
purse  contains  what  remains  of  my 
profits  from  the  last  two  months  and 
from  my  benefit  lust  night.  It  is  all 
that  I  have;  take  it  and  divide  it 
amongst  you.  It  will,  at  least,  suffice 
to  support  you  all  one  month." 

"Will  you  accept  this?"  said  Jo- 
seph, with  glowing  cheeks. 

"  No,  we  will  not  accept  it ;  what  we 
do  we  will  do  freely,  and  no  man  shall 
fetter  us  by  his  generosity  or  magna- 
nimity, not  even  Eckhof." 

Eckhof  was  radiant  with  joy.  "  Hear, 
now — I  have  another  proposition  to 
make.  You  have  refused  my  offer  for 
yourselves,  but  you  dare  not  refuse  it 
for  your  children ;  take  this  money  and 
divide  it  equally  amongst  your  wives 
and  children.  With  this  gold  you 
shall  buy  yourselves  free  for  a  while 
from  vour  families." 


RO 


BERLIN  AND  SANS^OUCI ;    OR, 


After  a  long  and  eloquent  persuasion, 
Eckhof  s  offer  was  accepted,  and  di- 
vided fairly.  He  looked  on  with  a 
kindly  smile. 

"  I  now  stand  exactly  as  I  did  when 
I  resolved  two  years  ago  to  be  an  actor. 
Before  that  I  was  an  honest  clerk ;  from 
day  to  day  I  vegetated,  and  thanked 
God,  when,  after  eight  hours'  hard 
work,  I  could  enjoy  a  little  fresh  air 
and  the  evening  sunshine,  and  declaim 
to  the  fields  and  groves  my  favorite 
lines  from  the  great  autliors.  It  is 
probable  I  should  still  have  been  a  poor 
clerk  and  a  dreamer,  if  my  good  genius 
had  not  stood  by  me  and  given  me  a 
powerful  blow,  which  awakened  me 
from  dreaming  to  active  life.  The  jus- 
tice of  the  peace,  whose  clerk  I  was, 
commanded  me  to  serve  behind  his  car- 
riage as  a  footman ;  this  aroused  my 
anger  and  my  self-respect,  and  I  left 
him,  determined  rather  to  die  of  hun- 
ger than  to  submit  to  such  humiliation. 
My  good  genius  was  again  at  hand,  and 
gave  me  courage  to  follow  the  jjrompt- 
ings  of  my  heart,  and  become  an  actor. 
He  who  will  be  great  has  the  strength 
to  achieve  greatness.  Let  us  go  on- 
ward, then,  with  bold  hearts."  He  gave 
his  hand  to  his  friends  and  dismissed 
them,  warning  them  to  prepare  for 
their  journey. 

"  You  are  determined  to  go  to  Halle  ? " 
said  Fredersdorf,  who  had  remained 
behind  for  the  last  greeting. 

"  We  will  go  to  Halle  ;  it  is  the  seat  of 
the  Muses,  and  belongs,  therefore,  to  us." 

Joseph  shook  his  head  sadly.  "I 
know  Halle,"  said  he.  You  call  it  the 
seat  of  the  Muses.  I  know  it  only  as 
the  seat  of  pedantry.  You  will  soon 
know  and  confess  this.  There  is  noth- 
ing more  narrow-minded,  jealous,  arro- 
gant, and  conceited  than  a  Halle  pro- 
fessor. He  sees  no  merit  in  any  thing 
but  himself  and  a  few  old  dusty  Greeks 
and  Ilomans,  and  even  these  are  only 
fifreat  because  the  professor  of  Halle  has 


shown  them  the  honor  to  explain  and 
descant  upon  them.  But,  you  are  re- 
solved— I  would  go  with  you  to  prisoj 
and  to  death ;  in  short,  I  will  follow 
you  to  Halle." 

"  And  now  I  am  at  last  alone,"  said 
Eckhof;  "now  I  must  study  my  new 
role ;  now  stand  by  me,  ye  gods,  and 
inspire  me  with  your  strength ;  give  me 
the  right  tone,  the  right  emphasis  to 
personate  this  rare  and  wonderful  Hip- 
polytus,  with  which  I  hope  to  win  the 
stern  professors  of  Halle  ! " 

Walking  backward  and  forward,  he 
began  to  declaim  the  proud  and  elo- 
quent verses  of  Corneille;  he  was  so 
thoroughly  absorbed  that  he  did  not 
hear  the  oft-repeated  knock  upon  the 
door ;  he  did  not  even  see  that  the  door 
was  softly  opened,  and  the  young  Lu- 
pinus  stood  blushing  upon  the  thresh- 
old. He  stood  still  and  listened  with 
rapture  to  the  pathetic  words  of  the 
great  actor ;  and  as  Eckhof  recited  the 
glowing  and  innocent  confession  of  love 
made  by  Hippolytus,  a  burning  blush 
suffused  the  cheek  of  the  young  student, 
and  his  eyes  were  filled  with  tears.  He 
overcame  his  emotion,  and  advanced  to 
Eckhof,  who  was  now  standing  before 
the  glass,  studying  the  attitude  which 
would  best  accord  with  this  passionate 
declaration. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  with  a  low  and  trem- 
bling voice,  "  pardon  me  for  disturbing 
you.  I  was  told  that  I  should  find 
Eckhof  in  this  room,  and  it  is  most  im- 
portant to  me  to  see  and  consult  with 
this  great  man.  I  know  this  is  his 
dwelling ;  be  kind  enough  to  tell  me  if 
he  is  within." 

"  This  is  his  home,  truly,  but  ho  is 
neither  a  great  nor  a  wise  man ;  only 
and  simply  Eckhof  the  actor." 

"I  did  not  ask  your  opinion  of  the 
distinguished  man  whom  I  honor,  but 
only  where  I  can  find  him." 

"Tell  me  first  what  you  want  of 
Eckhof.'- 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


61 


"  Wliat  I  want  of  him,  sir  ?  "  said  the 
fouth,  thoughtfully ;  "  I  scarcely  know 
myself.  There  is  a  mystery  in  my  soul 
which  I  cannot  fathom.  Eckhof  has 
age,  wisdom,  and  experience — perhaps 
he  can  enlighten  me.  I  have  faith  in 
his  eyes  and  in  his  silver  beard,  and  I 
can  say  freely  to  him  what  I  dare  not 
say  to  any  other." 

Eckhof  laughed  merrily.  "  As  to  his 
white  beard,  you  will  find  that  in  his 
wardrobe;  his  wisdom  you  will  find  in 
the  books  of  the  authors,  to  whose  great 
thoughts  he  has  only  given  voice ;  he 
is  neither  old,  wise,  nor  experienced. 
In  short — I,  myself,  am  Eckhof." 

"You  are  Eckhof!"  said  Lupinus, 
turning  deadly  pale,  and,  stepping  back 
a  few  paces,  he  stared  with  distended 
eyes  at  the  actor,  whose  noble  and  in- 
tellectual face,  glowing  with  youthful 
fire,  was  turned  toward  him. 

"  I  am  Eckhof,  and  I  hope  you  will 
forgive  me  for  being  a  little  younger,  a 
little  browner,  and  somewhat  less  wise 
than  the  great  Cato,  in  which  character 
you  no  doubt  saw  me  last  night.  I  dare 
hope  that  my  confession  will  not  shake 
your  confidence  in  me;  with  my  whole 
heart  I  beg  that  you  will  tell  me  how  I 
can  l)e  useful  to  you,  and  what  mystery 
you  wish  to  have  explained." 

''  No,  no !  I  cannot  explain,"  cried 
the  youth ;  "  forgive  me  for  having  dis- 
turbed you.  I  have  notliing  more  to 
say."  Confused  and  ashamed,  Lupinus 
left  the  room.  The  actor  gazed  after 
him  wonderingly,  convinced  that  he 
had  been  closeted  with  a  madman. 

With  trembling  heart,  scarcely  know- 
ing what  he  thought  or  did,  the  student 
reached  his  room  and  closed  the  door, 
and  throwing  himself  upon  his  knees, 
he  cried  out  in  tones  of  anguish  :  "  Oh, 
my  God!  I  have  seen  Eckhof:  he  is 
young,  he  is  glorious  in  beauty,  un- 
happy that  I  am!"  With  his  hands 
folded  and  still  upon  his  knees,  he  gazed 
dreamily  in  the  distance  ;  then  spiing- 


ing  up  suddenly,  his  eyes  glowing  with 
energy  and  passion,  he  cried :  "  I  must 
go,  I  must  go  !  I  will  return  to  Halle, 
to  my  books  and  my  quiet  room ;  it  is 
lonely,  but  there  I  am  at  peace;  there 
the  world  and  the  voice  of  Eckhof  can- 
not enter.  I  must  forget  this  wild 
awakening  of  my  youth ;  my  heart  must 
sleep  again  and  dream,  and  be  buried 
at  last  under  the  dust  of  books.  Un- 
happy that  I  am,  I  feel  that  the  past  is 
gone  forever.  I  stand  trembling  on  the 
borders  of  a  new  existence.  I  will  go 
at  once — perhaps  there  is  yet  time ;  per- 
haps I  may  yet  escape  the  wretchedness 
which  threatens  me.  Oh  !  in  my  books 
and  studies  I  may  forget  all.  I  may  no 
longer  hear  this  voice,  which  is  forever 
sounding  in  my  enraptured  ears,  no 
longer  see  those  fearful  but  wondrous 
eyes." 

With  feverish  haste  and  trembling 
hands  he  made  up  his  little  parcel.  A 
few  hours  later  the  post-wagon  rolled 
by  Eckhof 's  dwelling.  A  young  man 
with  pale,  haggard  face  and  tearful 
eyes  gazed  up  at  his  windows. 

"Farewell,  Eckhof,"  murmured  he; 
"I  flee  from  you,  but  may  God  bless 
you !  I  go  to  Halle ;  there  I  shall  nevei 
see  you,  my  heart  shall  never  thrill  at 
the  sound  of  your  eloquent  voice." 

Lupinus  leaned  sadly  back  in  the  car- 
riage, comforting  himself  with  the  con- 
viction that  he  was  safe ;  but  Fate  was 
too  strong  for  him,  and  the  danger  from 
which  he  so  bravely  fled,  followed  him 
speedily. 


CHAPTER  Xn. 

SUPEKSTinON  AlfD  PIETY. 

The  goal  was  at  last  reached.  The 
black  ram  for  the  propitiatory  offering 
was  found,  and  was  now  awaiting  in 
Berlin  the  hour  of  sacrifice. 

With  what  eager  impatience,  with 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


what  throbbing  pulses,  did  Freders- 
dorf  wait  for  the  evening !  At  last  this 
sublime  mystery  would  be  explained, 
and  rivers  of  gold  would  flow  at  his 
command.  Happily,  the  king  was  not 
in  Berlin — he  had  gone  to  Chai'lotten- 
burg.  Fredersd<j)rf  was  free — lord  of 
himself. 

"And  after  to-moiTow,  it  will  be  ever 
the  same,"  said  he  to  himself,  joyfully. 
"  To-morrow  the  world  will  belong  to 
mel  I  will  not  envy  the  king  his 
crown,  the  scholar  his  learning,  or  youth 
and  beauty  their  bloom.  I  shall  be 
more  powerful,  more  honored,  more  be- 
loved, than  them  all.  I  shall  possess 
an  inexhaustible  fountain  of  gold.  Gold 
is  the  lord  and  king  of  the  world.  The 
king  and  the  philosopher,  youth,  beau- 
ty, and  grace,  bow  down  before  its 
shrine.  Oh,  what  a  life  of  gladness 
and  rapture  will  be  mine !  I  shall  be 
at  liberty.  I  shall  wed  the  woman  I 
adore.  The  sun  is  sinking ;  the  moon 
will  soon  ride  triumphantly  in  the 
heavens,  and  then — " 

A  light  rustling  on  the  tapestry  door 
interrupted  him;  and  he  turned  anx- 
iously toward  this  door,  which  led  di- 
rectly to  the  chambers  of  the  king,  and 
through  which  he  alone  could  enter.  It 
was  indeed  Frederick.  He  entered  the 
room  of  his  private  secretary  with  a 
bright,  gay  smile. 

"  I  come  unexpectedly,"  said  the  king. 
His  clear,  piercing  glance  instantly  re- 
marked the  cloud  which  lowered  upon 
the  Ijrow  of  Fredersdorf.  "  But  what 
will  you  have  ?  The  king  and  Fate,  as 
Deus  ex  macJiind,  appear  without  warn- 
ing, and  confuse  tne  calculations  of  in- 
significant mortals." 

"  I  have  made  no  calculations,  sire," 
said  Fredeisdorf,  confused;  "and  the 
presence  of  my  king  can  never  disturb 
my  peace." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  said  Frederick, 
smiling.  "Well,  I  have  made  my  cal- 
culations, and  you,  Fredersdorf,  have 


an  important  part  to  play.  We  have  a 
great  work  on  hand,  and  if  you  have 
set  your  heart  upon  being  at  liberty  this 
evening,  I  regret  it ;  the  hope  is  a  vain 
one.  This  evening  you  are  the  prisoner 
of  your  king." 

The  king  said  this  with  so  grave,  so 
peculiar,  and  at  the  same  time  so  kindly 
an  expression,  that  Fredersdorf  was 
involuntarily  touched  and  softened,  and 
he  pressed  his  lips  warmly  upon  the 
hand  which  Frederick  held  out  to  him. 

"  We  must  M'ork  diligently,"  said  the 
king.  "The  time  of  idleness  is  past, 
and  also  the  time  consecrated  to  the 
Muses.  Soon  I  will  lay  my  flute  in  its 
case,  and  draw  my  sword  from  its  scab- 
bard. It  appears  that  my  godmother, 
Maria  Theresa,  thinks  it  unseemly  for  a 
King  of  Prussia  to  pass  his  days  else- 
where than  in  a  tented  field,  or  to  hear 
other  music  than  the  sound  of  trumpet 
or  the  thunder  of  cannon  calling  loudly 
to  battle.  Well,  if  Austria  will  have 
war,  she  shall  have  it  promptly.  Never 
will  Prussia  yield  to  her  imperious  con- 
ditipns,  and  never  will  the  house  of 
Hohenzollern  subject  herself  to  the 
house  of  Hapsburg.  My  godmother, 
the  empress,  can  never  forget  that  the 
Prince-Elector  of  Brandenburg  once,  at 
the  table,  held  a  wash-basin  for  the  em- 
peror. For  this  reason  she  always  re- 
gards us  as  cavalier  servant  to  the  house 
of  Hapsburg.  Now,  by  the  help  of 
England,  Saxony,  and  Russia,  she  hopes 
to  bring  us  under  the  old  yoke.  But 
she  shall  not  succeed.  She  has  made 
an  alliance  with  England,  Russia,  and 
Saxony.  I  have  united  with  France 
aiad  Bavaria,  for  the  protection  ol 
Charles  the  Seventh.  This,  you  see, 
Fredersdorf,  is  war.  Our  life  of  fantasy 
and  dreaming  is  over.  I  have  given 
you  a  little  dish  of  politics,"  said  the 
king,  after  a  pause.  "  I  wish  to  show 
you  that  I  have  need  of  you,  and  that 
we  have  much  to  do.  We  must  arrange 
my  private   accounts,  we  have  rnanj 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT   AND   HIS   FRIENDS. 


63 


otters  to  write ;  and  then  we  must  se- 
.ect  and  prepa^-c  the  rich  presents  to  be 
given  to  the  Princess  Ulrica  on  her 
marriage.  Fredersdorf,  we  cannot  af- 
ford to  be  idle.'' 

"I  shall  be  ready  at  all  times  to  obey 
the  commands  of  ray  king.  I  will  work 
the  entire  night ;  but  I  pray  your  ma- 
jesty to  grant  me  a  few  hours  this 
evening — I  have  most  important  busi- 
ness, which  cannot  be  postp<raed." 

"  Ah  !  without  doubt,  you  wish  to 
finish  the  epistle  of  Horace,  of  which 
we  spoke  a  few  days  since.  If  I  re- 
member correctly,  this  epistle  relates  to 
the  useless  offering  of  a  lamb  or  black 
ram.  Well,  I  give  up  this  translation 
for  the  present ;  we  have  no  time  for  it; 
and  I  cannot  possibly  give  you  leave  of 
absence  this  evening." 

"And  yet  I  dare  to  repeat  my  re- 
quest," said  Fredersdorf,  with  passion- 
ate excitement.  "  Sire,  my  business  can- 
not be  postponed,  and  I  beseech  you  to 
grant  me  a  few  hours." 

"  If  you  will  not  yield  to  the  earnest 
wish  of  your  friend,  you  will  be  forced 
to  submit  to  the  command  of  your 
king,"  said  Frederick,  sternly.  "  I  forbid 
you  to  leave  your  room  this  evening." 

"  Have  pity,  sire,  I  entreat  you !  I 
wish  but  for  two  hours  of  liberty.  I  tell 
you  my  business  is  most  important ;  the 
happiness  of  my  life  depends  upon  it." 

The  king  shrugged  his  shoulders  con- 
temptuously. "  The  happiness  of  your 
life  !  How  can  this  poor,  short-sighted, 
vam  race  of  mortals  decide  any  question 
relating  to  *  the  happiness  of  life  ? ' 
You  seek  it  to-day,  perhaps,  in  riches ; 
to-morrow  in  the  arms  of  your  beloved ; 
and  the  next  day  you  turn  away  from 
and  despise  both  the  one  and  the  other. 
I  cannot  fulfil  your  wish ;  I  have  impor- 
tant work  for  you,  and  will  not  grant 
you  one  moment's  absence." 

"  Su-e,  I  must—" 

"  Not  another  word !  remain  here;  I 
lommand  you  not  to  leave  this  room  I  " 


"  I  will  not  obey  this  command,"  said 
Fredersdorf,  completely  beside  himself 
with  rage  and  despair.  "Will  your 
majesty  dismiss  me  from  your  service, 
withdraw  your  favor,  and  banish  me 
forever  from  your  presence?  I  must 
and  will  have  some  hours  of  liberty 
this  evening ! " 

The  king's  eyes  flashed  lightning,  and 
his  features  assumed  so  threatening  an 
expression,  that  Fredersdorf,  though 
completely  blinded  by  passion,  trembled. 
Without  a  word  in  reply,  the  king 
stepped  hastily  to  the  door  which  led 
into  the  con-idor.  Two  soldiers  stood 
before  the  door. 

"  You  will  see  that  no  one  leaves  this 
room,"  said  Frederick — "  you  will  fire 
upon  any  one  who  opens  the  door." 
He  turned  and  fixed  his  eyes  steadily 
upon  the  pale  face  of  the  secretary.  "  I 
said  to  you  that  you  were  the  prisoner 
of  yom*  king  to-day.  You  would  not 
understand  my  jest.  I  wiU  force  you 
to  see  that  I  am  in  earnest.  The  guards 
stand  before  this  door ;  the  other  door 
leads  to  my  apartment,  and  I  will  close 
it.  You  shall  not  work  with  me  to- 
day; you  are  not  worthy  of  it.  You 
are  a  bold  rebel,  deserving  punishment, 
and  '  having  eyes  see  not.'  " 

Fredersdorf  had  not  the  courage 
to  reply.  The  king  stepped  hastily 
through  the  room  and  opened  the  tapes- 
try door ;  as  he  stood  upon  the  thresh- 
old, he  turned  once  again.  "  Freders- 
dorf, the  time  wnll  come  when  you  will 
thank  me  for  having  been  a  stern  king." 
He  closed  the  door,  placed  the  key  in 
his  pocket,  and  returned  to  his  room, 
where  Jordan  awaited  him. 

"  And  now,  friends,  the  police  may 
act  promptly  and  rigorously  ;  Freders- 
dorf will  not  be  there,  and  I  shall  not 
find  it  necessary  to  punish  him  further, 
Alas !  how  difficult  it  is  to  turn  a  fool 
from  his  folly  !  Fredersdorf  would 
learn  to  make  gold  through  the  sacri- 
fice of  a  black  ram ;  in  order  to  do  this, 


64 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


he  joins  himself  to  my  adversaries,  to 
the  hypocrites  and  pietists ;  he  goes  to 
the  so-called  prayer-meetings  of  the 
godless,  who  call  themselves,  for- 
sooth, the  children  of  God  I  Ah !  Jor- 
dan, how  selfish,  how  pitiful  is  this 
small  race  of  man  !  how  little  do  they 
merit !  I  took  Frcdersdorf  from  obscu- 
rity and  poverty,  I  not  only  took  him 
into  my  service,  I  made  him  my  confi- 
dant and  my  friend — I  loved  him  sin- 
cerely. And  what  is  my  reward?  He 
is  ungrateful,  and  he  hates  me  with  a 
perfect  hatred  ;  he  is  now  sitting  in  his 
room  and  cursing  his  king,  who  has 
done  nothing  more  than  protect  him 
from  the  withering  ridicule  which  his 
childish  and  mad  pursuit  was  about 
to  bring  upon  him.  Jordan,  Jordan  ! 
kings  are  always  repaid  with  ingrati- 
tude." 

"Yes,  sire;  and  God,  our  heavenly 
Father,  meets  with  the  same  reward," 
said  Jordan,  with  a  painful  smile. 
"  God  and  the  king  are  the  two  powers 
most  misunderstood.  In  their  bright 
radiance  they  stand  too  high  above  the 
sons  of  men :  they  demand  of  the  king 
that  he  shall  be  all-wise,  almighty,  even 
as  God  is;  they  require  of  God  that 
He  shall  judge  and  act  as  weak,  short- 
sighted men  do,  not  '  knowing  the  end 
from  the  beginning.' " 

The  king  did  not  reply ;  with  his 
arms  folded,  he  walked  thoughtfully 
through  the  room. 

"  Poor  Fredcrsdorf,"  said  he,  softly, 
"  I  have  slain  his  hobby-horse,  and  that 
is  always  an  unpardonable  offence  to 
any  man.  I  might,  perhaps,  have 
closed  my  eyes  to  the  mad  follies  of 
these  so-called  pietists,  if  they  had  not 
drawn  my  poor  secretary  into  the  toils. 
For  his  sake  1  will  give  them  a  lesson. 
I  will  force  him  to  see  that  they  are  hyp- 
ocrites and  charlatans.  IIap])en  what 
will,  I  have  saved  Fredersdorf  from  rid- 
icule ;  if  he  curses  me  for  this,  I  can 
bear  it  cheerfully.'* 


The  king  was  right;  Fredersdorf 
was  insane  with  passion.  He  cursed  the 
king,  not  only  in  his  heart,  but  with 
his  trembling  lips ;  he  called  him  a 
tyrant,  a  heartless  egotist.  He  hated 
him,  even  as  an  ignorant,  unreasoning 
child  hates  the  kind  hand  which  cor- 
rects and  restrains. 

"  They  will  discover  this  mystery ; 
they  will  learn  how  to  make  gold,  and 
I  shall  not  be  there,"  murmured  Fre- 
dersdorf, gnashing  his  teeth  ;  "  who 
knows  ?  perhaps  they  will  not  divulge 
to  me  this  costly  receipt !  They  will 
lie  to  me  and  deceive  me.  Ah !  the 
moon  is  rising  ;  she  casts  her  pure,  sil- 
ver rays  into  this  hated  room,  now  be- 
come my  prison.  Now,  even  now,  they 
are  assembling ;  now  the  holy  incanta- 
tion begins,  and  I — I  am  not  there  1 " 
He  tore  his  hair,  and  beat  his  breast, 
and  cried  aloud. 

Fredersdorf  was  right.  As  the  moon 
rose,  the  conspirators,  who  had  been 
notified  by  Von  Kleist,  the  husband  of 
the  beautiful  Louise  von  Schwerin,  be- 
gan to  assemble.  The  great  saloon  in 
which  the  gay  and  laughter-loving  Lou- 
ise had  given  her  superb  balls  and  soi- 
rees— in  which  her  dancing  feet  had 
trampled  upon  her  fortune  and  her  hap- 
piness, was  now  changed  into  a  solemn 
temple  of  worship,  where  the  pious  be- 
lievers assembled  to  pray  to  God  and 
to  adjure  the  devil.  The  king  had  for- 
bidden that  the  churches  should  be 
opened  except  on  Sunday  and  the  reg- 
ular fete  days.  Some  over-pious  and 
fanatical  preachers  had  dared  to  diso- 
bey this  order.  The  assemblies  had 
been  broken  up  by  force  of  arms,  the 
people  driven  to  their  homes,  and  the 
churches  closed.  Both  priests  and  peo- 
ple were  threatened  with  severe  pun- 
ishment if  they  should  dare  to  open  the 
churches  again  during  the  week.* 

The  pietists,  forgetting  the  Bible  rule, 


*  ProuBs's  "  Geschlchte  Friedrichs  des  Groseen  " 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


65 


to  "give  unto  Cossar  that  wliicli  is 
Caesar's,"  refused  obedience  to  the  spirit 
of  the  command,  and  assembled  to- 
gether in  the  different  houses  of  the 
faithful.  Their  worship  consisted  prin- 
cipally in  stern  resolves  to  remain  obe- 
dient to  the  only  true  doctrine.  To  the 
proud  fanatic  this  is,  of  course,  the  faith 
which  he  professes,  and  there  is  salva- 
tion in  no  other.  With  zealous  speech 
they  railed  at  the  king  as  a  heretic  or 
unbeliever,  and  strengthened  themselves 
in  their  disobedience  to  his  commands 
by  declaring  it  was  weU-pleasing  in  the 
sight  of  God. 

The  pietists,  who  had  in  vain  en- 
deavored to  retain  the  power  and  influ- 
ence which  they  had  enjoyed  under 
Frederick  William,  whom  they  now 
declared  to  have  been  the  holiest  and 
wisest  of  kings,  had  become  the  bitter- 
est enemies  of  Frederick  the  Great. 
The  king  called  their  piety  hypocrisy, 
laughed  at  their  rage,  replied  to  their 
curses  by  witty  words  and  biting  sar- 
casm ;  and  on  one  occasion,  after  lis- 
tening to  an  impertinent  request,  he  re- 
plied laconically :  "  The  cursed  priest 
don't  know  himself  what  he  wants. 
Let  him  go  to  the  devil !  "  * 

This  so-called  prayer-meeting  was  to 
take  place  to-day  in  the  ballroom  of 
the  beautiful  Louise,  after  the  regular 
hom*  of  worship.  Only  the  elect  and 
consecrated  would  remain  behind  to 
take  part  in  the  deeper  mysteries,  and 
be  witness  to  the  incantation  by  which 
the  astrologist  Pfannenschmidt  would 
constrain  his  majesty  the  devil  to  ap- 
pear. No  woman  was  allowed  to  be 
present  at  this  holy  ordinance,  and  each 
one  of  the  consecrated  had  sworn  a  sol- 
emn oath  not  to  betray  an  act  of  the 
assembly. 

Von  Kleist  had  taken  the  oath,  and 
<vcpL  it  faithfully.  But  there  is  a 
wise  Pei-sian  proverb  which  says :  "  If 


•  BuKcting's  "  Character  of  Frederick  the  Great" 
5 


you  would  change  an  obedient  and 
submissive  wife  into  a  proud  rebel,  you 
have  only  to  forbid  something !  If  you 
wish  to  keep  a  secret  from  the  wife  ol 
your  bosom,  slay  yourself,  or  tear  out 
your  tongue ;  if  you  live,  she  will  dis- 
cover your  secret,  even  though  hidden 
in  the  bottom  of  your  heart."  Louise 
von  Kleist  had  proved  the  truth  of  this 
proverb.  She  had  discovered  the  se- 
cret which  her  husband  wished  to  con- 
ceal from  her.  She  had  soon  recovered 
from  the  fleeting  love  entertained  at 
first  for  the  husband  chosen  for  her  by 
the  king.  She  had  returned  to  the 
levity  of  her  earlier  days,  and  only 
waited  for  an  opportunity  to  revenge 
herself  upon  her  husband.  Louise 
hated  him  because  he  had  never  been 
rich  enough  to  gratify  her  extravagant 
taste  and  caprices.  He  had  even  re- 
strained her  in  the  use  of  her  own 
means:  they  were  always  in  want  of 
money,  and  constantly  railing  bitterly 
at  each  other. 

For  all  this  misery  Louise  wished  to 
revenge  herself  upon  her  husband,  as 
beautiful  and  coquettish  women  always 
wish  to  revenge  themselves.  She  was 
more  than  ready  to  believe  the  words 
of  that  poet  who  says  that  "  a  woman's 
heart  is  always  girlish  and  youthful 
enough  for  anew  love."  She  wished  to 
take  special  vengeance  upon  her  hus- 
band for  daring  to  keep  a  secret  from 
her.  So  soon  as  she  discovered  the 
object  of  these  secret  meetings,  she  in- 
formed the  king,  and  implored  him  to 
come  to  her  assistance  and  rescue  her 
husband  from  those  crooked  paths 
which  had  cost  her  her  wedded  happi- 
ness and  her  fortune.  Frederick  agreed 
at  once  to  her  proposition,  not  so  much 
for  her  sake  as  because  he  rejoiced  in 
the  opportunity  to  free  Fredersdorf 
from  the  mystic  superstitions  which 
had  clouded  his  intellect,  and  convince 
him  of  the  cunning  and  hypocrisy  of 
the  alchemist  Pfannenschmidt. 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


Every  necessary  preparation'had  been 
made  by  order  of  the  king.  The  pious 
assembly  had  scarcely  met,  when  Louise 
called  the  four  policemen  who  were 
waiting  in  a  neighboring  house,  and 
placed  them  in  a  small  closet  adjoining 
the  ballroom,  where  every  thing  which 
took  place  could  be  both  seen  and 
heard. 

The  conspirators  had  no  suspicion. 
The  meeting  was  larger  than  ever  be- 
fore. There  were  people  of  all  classes, 
from  the  day  laborer  to  the  comforta- 
ble burgher,  from  the  honorable  officer 
under  government  to  the  highest  noble. 
They  prayed  earnestly  and  fervently, 
and  sang  hymns  to  the  honor  and  glory 
of  God.  Then  one  of  the  popular 
priests  stepped  into  the  pulpit  and 
thundered  forth  one  of  those  arrogant, 
narrow-minded,  and  violent  discourses 
which  the  believers  of  those  days  in- 
dulged in.  He  declared  all  those  lost, 
condemned  to  eternal  torture,  who  did 
not  believe  as  he  believed;  and  all 
those  elected  and  sanctified  who  ad- 
hered to  his  holy  faith,  and  who,  de- 
spising the  command  of  the  heretical 
king,  met  together  for  these  forbidden 
services. 

All  this,  however,  was  but  the  prepa- 
ration for  the  great  solemnity  prepared 
for  the  initiated,  who  were  now  wait- 
ing with  loudly-beating  hearts  and 
breathless  expectation  for  the  grand 
result. 

And  now  another  orator,  the  astrolo- 
ger, the  enlightened  prophet  of  God, 
ascended  the  pulpit.  With  what  pious 
words  he  warned  his  hearers  to  repent- 
ance I  how  eloquently  he  exhorted  them 
to  contemn  the  hollow  and  vain  world, 
which  God  has  only  made  lovely  and 
attractive  in  order  to  tempt  men  to  sin 
and  try  their  powers  of  resistance! 
"Resist!  resist!"  he  howled  through 
his  nose,  "and  persuade  men  to  turn 
to  you,  and  be  saved  even  as  we  are 
saved — to  become  angels  of  God,  even 


as  we  are  God's  holy  angels."  In  order 
however,  to  reach  their  exalted  goal, 
they  must  make  greater  efforts,  use 
larger  means.  Power  and  wealth  were 
necessary  to  make  the  world  happy  and 
convert  it  to  the  true  faith.  The  world 
must  become  wholly  theirs ;  they  must 
buy  from  the  devil  the  gold  which  he 
has  hid  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  and 
with  it  allure  men,  and  save  their  souls 
from  perdition.  "  We,  by  the  grace  of 
God,  have  been  empowered  to  subdue 
the  devil,  and  to  force  him  to  give  up 
his  secret.  To  those  who,  like  ourselves, 
are  enlightened  by  the  holy  spirit  of 
knowledge,  the  mysteries  of  the  lower 
world  must  be  made  clear.  It  is  also  a 
noble  and  great  work  which  we  have 
before  us ;  we  must  make  gold,  and  with 
it  we  must  purchase  and  convert  the 
whole  race  to  holiness !  " 

When  this  pious  rhapsody  was  con 
eluded,  he  called  the  assembly  to  ear- 
nest prayer.  They  fell  upon  their  knees, 
and  dared  to  pray  to  God  that  He 
would  give  them  strength  to  adjure  the 
devil ! 

It  was  not,  however,  exactly  the  plan 
of  the  astrologer  to  crown  the  eflforts 
of  the  elect  with  success,  and  bring  the 
devil  virtually  before  them.  As  long  as 
his  majesty  did  not  appear,  the  pious 
must  believe  and  hope  in  their  priest ; 
must  give  him  their  love,  their  confi- 
dence, and  their  gold  ;  must  look  upon 
him  as  their  benefactor,  who  was  to 
crown  their  future  with  glory  and 
riches,  and  bring  the  world  to  their 
feet.  In  short,  he  knew  it  was  impos- 
sible for  him  to  introduce  a  devil  who 
could  disclose  the  great  secret.  The 
prayers  and  ofierings  of  the  past  had 
failed,  and  their  future  sacrifices  must 
also  be  in  vain. 

And  now,  in  the  midst  of  solemn 
hymns,  the  ram  was  led  to  the  altar — 
this  rare  offering  which  had  cost  so 
much  weary  wandering  and  so  much 
precious  gold.     With  pompous  cere- 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


67 


mony.  and  covered  with  a  white  veil, 
the  black  ram  was  led  to  the  sacri- 
fice. The  holy  priest  Pfannenschmidt, 
clothed  m  gold-embroidered  robes, 
stood  with  a  silver  knife  in  his  hand, 
and  a  silver  bowl  to  receive  the  blood 
of  his  victim.  As  he  raised  the  knife, 
the  faithful  threw  themselves  upon  their 
knees  and  prayed  aloud,  prayed  to 
God  to  be  with  them  and  bless  their 
eflforts. 

The  astrologer,  glowing  with  piety 
and  enthusiasm,  was  about  to  sink  the 
knife  into  the  throat  of  the  poor  trem- 
bling beast,  when  suddenly  something 
unheard  of,  incredible,  took  place.  A 
figure  fearful  to  look  upon  sprang 
fiercely  from  behind  the  altar,  and 
seized  the  arm  of  the  priest. 

"  Spare  the  offering,  let  the  sacrifice 
go  free ! "  he  said,  with  a  thundering 
voice.  "  You  have  called  me,  and  I  am 
here !     I  am  the  devil !  " 

"The  devil!  it  is  truly  the  devil ! " 
and  with  timid  glances  they  looked  up 
at  the  giant  figure,  clothed  in  crimson, 
his  face  completely  shaded  by  a  wide- 
brimmed  hat,  from  which  three  crimson 
feathers  waved  majestically :  these,  with 
his  terrible  club-foot,  all  gave  unmis- 
takable evidence  of  the  presence  of  Sa- 
tan. They  believed  truly  in  him,  these 
pious  children  of  God ;  they  remained 
upon  theii-  knees  and  stammered  their 
prayers,  scarcely  knowing  themselves  if 
they  were  addressed  to  God  or  to  the 
devil. 

There  in  the  little  cabinet  stood  Lou- 
ise von  Kleist,  trembling  with  mirth, 
and  with  great  effort  suppressing  an 
outburst  of  laughter.  She  looked  with 
wicked  and  mocking  eyes  upon  her 
husband,  who  lay  shivering  and  deadly 
pale  at  the  feet  of  the  devil  and  the 
black  ram.  He  fixed  his  pleading 
glances  upon  the  fiery  monster  who  was 
to  him  indeed  the  devil.  Louise,  how- 
ever, fully  understood  this  scene ;  she  it 
was  who  had  induced  young  Freders- 


dorf  to  assume  this  part,  and  had  as- 
sisted him  in  his  disguise. 

"This  moment  repays  me,  avenges 
me  for  all  I  have  suffered  by  the  side  of 
this  silly  and  extravagant  fool,"  said 
Louise  to  herself.  "Oh,  I  will  mock 
him,  I  will  martyr  him  with  this  devil's 
work.  The  whole  world  shall  know  of 
it,  and,  from  this  time  forth,  I  shall  be 
justified  and  pitied.  No  one  will  be 
surprised  that  I  am  not  constant  to  my 
husband,  that  I  cannot  love  him." 

Whilst  the  pious-elect  still  rested 
upon  their  knees  in  trembling  adora- 
tion, the  priest  Pfannenschmidt  had  re- 
covered from  his  surprise  and  alarm. 
He,  who  did  not  believe  in  the  devil, 
although  he  daily  addressed  him,  knew 
that  the  monster  before  him  was  an  un- 
seemly jest  or  a  malicious  interruption. 
He  must,  therefore,  tear  oft'  his  mask 
and  expose  him  to  the  faithful. 

With  passionate  energy  he  sti'etched 
out  both  his  arms  toward  him.  "  Away 
with  you,  you  son  of  Baal !  Fly,  fly, 
before  I  unmask  you  !  You  are  not 
what  you  appear.  You  are  no  true 
devil!" 

"  How  !  you  deny  me,  your  lord  and 
mafster  ? "  cried  the  intruder,  raising  his 
hand,  covered  with  a  crimson  glove, 
against  the  priest.  "You  have  long 
called  for  me.  You  have  robbed  these, 
my  children,  of  their  gold  in  order  to 
propitiate  me,  and  now  that  I  am  come, 
you  will  not  confess  me  before  men! 
Perhaps  you  fear  that  these  pious  be- 
lievers will  no  longer  lavish  their  atten- 
tions and  their  gold  upon  you,  and  suf- 
fer you  to  lead  them  by  the  nose.  Go, 
go  !  you  are  not  my  high-priest.  I  lis- 
tened to  yoiu"  entreaties,  and  I  came, 
but  only  to  prove  to  my  children  that 
you  are  a  deceiver,  and  to  free  them 
from  your  yoke.  Away,  you  blas- 
phemer of  God  and  of  the  devil !  Nei- 
ther God  nor  the  devil  accepts  your 
service ;  away  with  you  1 "  Saying  this, 
he  seized  the  astrologer  with  a  power 


68 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


ful  arm,  and  dragged  him  toward  the 
altar. 

But  Pfanuenschmidtwasnot  the  man 
to  submit  to  such  indignities.  With  a 
•wild  cry  of  rage,  he  rushed  upon  his 
adversary;  and  now  began  a  scene 
which  neither  words  nor  colors  could 
portray.  The  pious  worshippers  raised 
themselves  from  their  knees  and  stared 
for  a  moment  at  this  curious  spectacle ; 
and  then,  according  as  they  believed  in 
the  devil  or  the  priest,  sprang  forward 
to  take  part  in  the  contest. 

In  the  midst  of  this  wild  tumult  the 
policemen  appeared,  to  arrest  those  who 
were  present,  in  the  name  of  the  king ; 
to  break  up  the  assembly,  and  put  an 
end  to  the  noise  and  tumult. 

Louise,  meanwhile,  laughing  boister- 
ously, observed  this  whole  scene  from 
the  cabinet;  she  saw  the  police  seize 
the  raging  astrologer,  who  uttered 
curses,  loud  and  deep,  against  the  un- 
believing king,  who  dared  to  treat  the 
pious  and  prayerful  as  culprits,  an^  to 


arrest  the  servant  and  pne'jt  of  the  Lord. 
Louise  saw  these  counts  and  barons, 
these  officers  and  secretaries,  who  had 
been  the  brave  adherents  of  the  astrol- 
oger, slipping  away  with  shame  and 
confusion  of  face.  She  saw  her  own 
husband  mocked  and  ridiculed  by  the 
police,  who  handed  him  an  order  from 
the  king,  written  by  the  royal  hand, 
commanding  him  to  consider  himself 
as  under  arrest  in  his  own  house.  As 
Louise  heard  this  order  reac^,  her  laugh- 
ter was  hushed  and  her  brow  was 
clouded. 

"Truly,"  said  she,  "that  is  a  degree 
of  consideration  which  looks  like  mal- 
ice in  the  king.  To  make  my  husband 
a  prisoner  in  his  own  house  is  to  punish 
me  fearfully,  by  condemning  me  steadily 
to  his  hateful  society.  My  God,  how 
cruel,  how  wicked  is  the  kingl  My 
husband  is  a  prisoner  here  !  that  is  to 
banish  my  beautiful,  my  beloved  Salim- 
berri  from  my  presence.  Oh,  when  shall 
we  meet  again,  my  love,  my  adorer?" 


book:  II. 


CHAPTER  L 

THE     TWO     SISTERS. 

"  I  HAVE  triumphed !  I  have  reached 
the  goal ! "  said  Princess  Ulrica,  with  a 
proud  smile,  as  she  laid  her  hymn-book 
aside,  and  removed  from  her  head  her 
long  white  veU.  "  This  important  step 
is  taken ;  yet  one  more  grand  ceremony, 
and  I  will  be  the  Princess  Royal  of 
Sweden — after  that,  a  queen !  They 
have  not  succeeded  in  setting  me  aside. 
Amelia  will  not  be  married  before  me, 
thus  bringing  upon  me  the  contempt 
and  ridicule  of  the  mocking  world. 
All  my  plans  have  succeeded.  In  place 
of  shrouding  my  head  in  the  funeral 
veil  of  an  abbess,  to  which  my  brother 
bad  condemned  me,  I  shall  soon  wear 
the  festive  myrtle- wreath,  and  ere  kng 
a  crown  will  adorn  my  brow." 

Ulrica  threw  herself  upon  the  divan, 
m  order  to  indulge  quietly  in  these 
proud  and  happy  dreams  of  the  future, 
when  the  do()r  was  hastily  thrown  open, 
and  the  Princess  Amelia,  with  a  pale 
and  angry  face,  entered  the  room.  She 
cast  one  of  those  glances  of  flame,  with 
which  she,  in  common  with  the  king, 
was  wont  to  crush  her  adversaries,  upon 
the  splendid  toilet  of  her  sister,  and  a 
wild  and  scornful  laugh  burst  from  her 
lips. 

"  I  have  not,  then,  been  deceived," 


she  cried;  "it  is  not  a  fairy  tale  to 
which  I  have  listened.  You  come  from 
the  chapel  ? " 

"  I  come  from  the  chapel  ?  yes,"  said 
Ulrica,  meeting  the  angry  glance  of  her 
sister  with  a  firm  and  steady  look.  Re- 
solved to  breast  the  coming  storm  with 
proud  composm-e,  she  folded  her  arms 
across  her  bosom,  as  if  she  would  pro- 
tect herself  from  Amelia's  flashing  eyes. 
''I  come  from  the  chapel — what  fur- 
ther?" 

"  What  further ! "  cried  Amelia, 
stamping  fiercely  on  the  floor.  "Ah, 
you  will  play  the  harmless  and  the  in- 
nocent! What  took  you  to  the  chapel?" 

Ulrica  looked  up  steadily  and  smil- 
ingly ;  then  said,  in  a  quiet  and  indif- 
ferent tone :  "  I  have  taken  the  sacra- 
ment of  the  Lord's  Supper,  according  to 
the  Lutheran  form  of  worship." 

Amelia  shuddered  as  if  she  felt  the 
sting  of  a  poisonous  serpent.  "That 
signifies  that  you  arc  an  apostate ;  that 
signifies  that  you  have  shamefully  out- 
witted and  betrayed  me ;  that  means — " 

"That  signifies,"  said  Ulrica,  inter- 
rupting her,  "that  I  am  a  less  pious 
Christian  than  you  are;  that  you,  my 
noble  young  sister,  are  a  more  innocent 
and  unselfish  maiden  than  the  Princess 
Ulrica." 

"  Words,  words !  base,  hypocritical 
words ! "  cried  Amelia.  "  You  first  in- 
spired me  with  the  though*^^  which  led 


70 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


to  my  childish  and  contradictory  behav- 
ior, and  which  for  some  days  made  me 
the  jest  of  the  court.  You  are  a  false 
friend,  a  faithless  sister  1  I  stood  in 
your  path,  and  you  put  me  aside.  I 
understand  now  your  perfidious  coun- 
sels, your  smooth,  deceitful  encourage- 
ment to  my  opposition  against  the 
proposition  of  the  Swedish  ambassador. 
I,  forsooth,  must  be  childish,  coarse, 
and  rude,  in  order  that  your  gentle  and 
girlish  grace,  your  amiable  courtesy, 
might  shine  with  added  lustre.  I  was 
your  foil,  which  made  the  jewel  of  your 
beauty  resplendent.  Oh !  it  is  shame- 
ful to  be  so  misused,  so  outwitted  by 
my  sister ! " 

With  streaming  eyes,  Amelia  sank 
upon  a  chair,  and  hid  her  face  with  her 
trembling  little  hands. 

"  Foolish  child ! "  said  Ulrica,  "  you 
accuse  me  fiercely,  but  you  know  that 
you  came  to  me  and  imi^lored  me  to 
find  a  means  whereby  you  would  be 
relieved  from  this  hated  marriage  with 
the  Prince  Eoyal  of  Sweden." 

"  You  should  have  reasoned  with  me, 
you  should  have  encouraged  me  to  give 
up  my  foolish  opposition.  You  should 
have  reminded  me  that  I  was  a  prin- 
cess, and  therefore  condemned  to  have 
no  heart." 

"You  said  nothing  to  me  of  your 
heart ;  you  spoke  only  of  your  religion. 
Had  you  told  me  that  your  heart  re- 
belled against  this  marriage  with  the 
Crown  Prince  of  Sweden,  then,  upon 
my  knees,  with  all  the  strength  of  a 
sister's  love,  I  would  have  implored 
you  to  acce))t  his  hand,  to  shroud  your 
heart  in  your  robe  of  purple,  and  take 
refuge  on  your  throne  from  the  dan- 
ger which  threatens  a  young  princess 
if  she  allows  her  heart  to  speak." 

Amelia  let  her  hands  fall  from  her 
face,  and  looked  up  at  her  sister,  whose 
great  earnest  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her 
with  an  expression  of  triumph  and  de- 
rision. 


"  I  did  not  say  that  my  heart  had 
spoken,"  she  cried,  sobbing  and  trem- 
bling ;  "  I  only  said  that  we  poor 
princesses  were  not  allowed  to  have 
hearts." 

"  No  heart  for  one ;  but  a  great  large 
heart,  great  enough  for  all ! "  cried 
Ulrica.  "  You  accuse  me,  Amelia,  but 
you  foi'get  that  I  did  not  intrude  upon 
your  confidence.  You  came  to  me  vol- 
untarily, and  disclosed  your  abhorrence 
of  this  marriage ;  then  only  did  I  coun- 
sel you,  as  I  would  wish  to  be  advised 
under  the  same  circumstances.  In  a 
word,  I  counselled  you  to  obey  your 
conscience,  your  own  convictions  of 
duty." 

"Your  advice  was  wonderfully  in 
unison  with  your  own  plans,  your  de 
ceitful  words  were  dictated  by  selfish 
ness,"  cried  Amelia,  bitterly. 

"  I  would  not  have  adopted  the  course 
which  I  advised  you  to  pursue,  because 
my  character  and  my  feelings  are 
wholly  different  from  yours.  My  con- 
science is  less  tender,  less  trembling 
than  yours.  To  become  a»Lutheran 
does  not  appear  to  me  a  crime,  not 
even  a  fault,  more  particularly  as  this 
change  is  not  the  result  of  fickleness  or 
inconstancy,  but  for  an  important  po- 
litical object." 

"And  your  object  was  to  become 
Queen  of  Sweden  ? " 

"  Why  should  I  deny  it  ?  I  acceiJt 
this  crown,  which  you  cast  from  you 
with  contempt.  I  am  ambitious.  You 
were  too  proud  to  ofier  up  the  smallest 
part  of  your  religious  faith  in  order  to 
mount  the  throne  of  Sweden.  I  do  not 
fear  to  be  banished  from  heaven,  be- 
cause, in  order  to  become  a  queen,  I 
changed  the  outward  form  of  my  reli- 
gion ;  my  inward  faith  is  unchanged :  if 
you  repent  your  conduct — if  you  have 
modified  your  views — " 

"No,  no!"  said  Amelia,  hastily,  "I 
do  not  repent.  My  grief  and  my  de- 
spair are  not  because  of  this  pitifii) 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT   AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


il 


crown,  but  because  of  my  faithless  and 
deceitful  sister  who  gave  me  evil  coun- 
sel to  promote  her  own  interests,  and 
while  she  seemed  to  love,  betrayed  me. 
Go,  go !  place  a  crown  upon  your  proud 
head ;  you  take  up  that  which  I  de- 
spise and  trample  upon.  I  do  not  re- 
peat, I  have  no  regrets.  But,  hark ! 
in  becoming  a  queen,  you  cease  to  be 
my  sister.  Never  will  I  forget  that 
through  falsehood  and  treachery  you 
won  this  crowru  Go !  be  Queen  of 
Sweden.  Let  the  whole  world  bow 
the  knee  before  you.  I  despise  yon. 
You  have  shrouded  your  pitiful  heart 
in  your  royal  robes.     Farewell ! " 

She  sprang  to  the  door  with  flashing 
eyes  and  throbbing  breast,  but  Ulrica 
followed  and  laid  her  hand  upon  her 
shoulder. 

"  Let  us  not  part  in  anger,  my  sister," 
said  she  softly — "  let  us — " 

Amelia  would  not  listen;  with  an 
angry  movement  she  dashed  the  hand 
from  her  shoulder  and  fled  from  the 
>oom.  Alone  in  her  boudoir,  she 
paced  the  room  in  stormy  rage,  wild 
passion  throbbed  in  every  pulse. 
With  the  insane  fury  of  the  Hohenzol- 
lems,  she  almost  cursed  her  sister,  who 
had  so  bitterly  deceived,  so  shamefully 
betrayed  her. 

In  outward  appearance,  as  well  as  in 
character,  the  Princess  Amelia  greatly 
resembled  her  royal  brother :  like  him, 
she  was  by  nature  trustful  and  confi- 
ding; but,  once  deceived,  despair  and 
doubt  took  possession  of  her.  A  dead- 
ly mildew  destroyed  the  love  which 
she  had  cherished,  not  only  for  her  be- 
trayer, but  her  confidence  and  trust  in 
all  around  her.  Great  and  magnani- 
mous herself,  she  now  felt  that  the  rich 
fountain  of  her  love  and  her  innocent, 
girlish  credulity  were  choked  within 
her  heart.  With  trembling  lips,  she 
said  aloud  and  firmly:  "I  will  never 
more  have  a  friend.  I  do  not  believe 
J)  friendship.     Women  are  all  false,  all 


cunning,  all  selfish.  My  heart  is  closed 
to  them,  and  their  deceitful  smiles  and 
plausible  words  can  never  more  betray 
me.  Oh,  my  God,  my  God!  must  I 
then  be  always  solitary,  always  alone  ? 
must  I — " 

Suddenly  she  paused,  and  a  rich 
crimson  blush  overspread  her  face. 
What  was  it  which  interrupted  her 
sorrowful  words  ?  Why  did  she  fix 
her  eyes  upon  the  door  so  eagerly  ? 
Why  did  she  listen  so  earnestly  to  that 
voice  calling  her  name  from  the 
corridor. 

"Pollnitz,  it  is  PoUnitz  !  "  she  whis- 
pered to  herself,  and  she  trembled  fear- 
fully. 

"I  must  speak  with  the  Princess 
Amelia,"  cried  the  master  of  cere- 
monies. 

"But  that  is  impossible."  replied 
another  voice ;  "  her  royal  highness  has 
closed  the  door,  and  will  receive  no 
one." 

"  Her  royal  highness  will  open  the 
door  and  allow  me  to  enter  as  soon  as 
you  announce  me.  I  come  upon  a  most 
important  mission.  The  life-happiness 
of  more  than  one  woman  depends  upon 
my  errand." 

"My  God!"  said  Amelia,  turning 
deadly  pale,  "  Pollnitz  may  betray  me 
if  I  refuse  to  open  the  door."  So  say- 
ing, she  sprang  forward  and  drew  back 
the  bolt. 

"  Look,  Bojv,  Mademoiselle  von  Mar- 
witz,"  cried  Pollnitz,  as  he  bowed 
profoundly,  "was  I  not  right?  Our 
dear  princess  was  graciously  pleased  to 
open  the  door  so  soon  as  she  heard  my 
voice.  Remark  that,  mademoiselle, 
and  look  upon  me  in  future  as  a  most 
important  person,  who  is  not  only  ac- 
corded les  grandes  but  les  petites 
entrees." 

The  Princess  Amelia  was  but  little 
inclined  to  enter  into  the  jests  of  the 
master  of  ceremonies. 

"  I  heard,"  said  she,  in  a  harsh  tone. 


72 


BERLIN  AND   SAXS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


"  that  J  u  demanded  importunately  to 
Bee  me,  and  you  went  so  far  as  to  de- 
clare that  the  happiness  of  many  men 
depended  upon  this  interview." 

"Pardon  me,  your  highness,  I  only 
said  that  the  happiness  of  more  than 
one  woman  dejjended  upon  it ;  and  you 
will  graciously  admit  that  I  have  spo- 
ken the  truth  when  you  learn  the  occa- 
sion whicn  brings  me  here." 

"Well,  let  us  hear,"  said  Amelia, 
"  and  woe  to  ji^ou  if  it  is  not  a  grave 
and  important  affair !  " 

"  Grave,  indeed ;  it  concerns  the 
toilets  for  a  ball,  and  you  must  con- 
fess that  the  happiness  of  more  than 
one  woman  hangs  upon  this  ques- 
tion." 

"In  truth,  you  are  right,  and  if  you 
came  as  milliner  or  dressmaker.  Made- 
moiselle von  Marwitz  did  wrong  not  to 
announce  you  immediately." 

"  Now,  ladies,  there  is  nothing  less 
important  on  hand  than  a  masked  ball. 
The  king  has  commanded  that,  besides 
the  masked  ball  which  is  to  take  place 
in  the  opera-house,  and  to  which  the 
public  are  invited,  another  shall  be  ar- 
ranged here  in  the  castle  on  the  day 
before  the  betrothal  of  the  Princess 
Ulrica." 

"  And  when  is  the  ceremony  to  take 
place  ?  "  said  Amelia. 

"  Has  not  your  royal  highness  been 
informed  ?  Ah,  I  ibrgot — the  king  has 
kept  this  a  secret,  and  to  no  one  but 
the  queen-mother  has  it  been  officially 
announced.  Yes,  yes,  the  Princess  Ul- 
rica is  to  marry  this  little  Prince  of 
Holstein,  who  will,  however,  be  king 
of  Sweden.  The  solemn  ceremony 
takes  place  in  four  days ;  so  we  have 
but  three  days  before  the  masquerade, 
and  we  must  work  night  and' day  to 
prepare  the  necessary  costumes  —  his 
majesty  wishes  it  to  be  a  superb  fete. 
Quadrilles  are  arranged,  the  king  has 
selected  the  partners,  and  I  am  here  at 
hia    command,  to    say  to  your  royal 


highness  that  you  will  take  part  ic 
these  quadrilles.  You  will  dance  a 
quadrille,  in  the  costume  of  Francis  the 
First,  with  the  Margravine  of  Baireuth 
and  the  Duchess  of  Brunswick." 

"And  who  is  to  be  my  partner?" 
said  Amelia,  anxiously, 

"  The  Margrave  von  Schwedt." 

"  Ah !  my  irresistible  cousin.  I  see 
there  the  hand  of  my  malicious  broth- 
er ;  he  knows  how  dull  and  wearisome 
I  consider  the  poor  margrave." 

The  princess  turned  away  displeased, 
and  w^alked  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  Did  you  not  say  that  I,  also,  would 
take  part  in  the  quadrille  ? "  said  Made- 
moiselle von  Marwitz. 

"Certainly,  mademoiselle;  you  will 
dance  in  Russian  costume." 

"  And  who  will  be  my  partner  ? " 

Pollnitz  laughed  heartily.  "  One 
would  think  that  the  most  important 
question  was  not  as  to  the  ball  toilet, 
but  as  to  the  partner ;  that  he,  in  short, 
was  as  much  a  life-question  as  the  color 
and  cut  of  your  robe,  or  the  fashion  of 
your  coiffure.  So  you  demand  the 
name  of  your  partner  ?  Ah,  mademoi 
selle,  you  will  be  more  than  content. 
The  partner  whom  the  king  has  select- 
ed for  you  is  one  of  our  yoimgest, 
handsomest,  most  amiable  and  talented 
cavaliers ;  a  youth  whom  Alcibiades 
would  not  have  been  indignant  at  being 
compared  with,  and  whom  Diana 
would  have  preferred,  perhaps,  to  the 
dreaming  and  beautful  Endymion, 
had  she  found  him  sleeping.  And 
mark  you,  you  will  not  only  dance 
with  this  pearl  of  creation,  but  in  the 
next  few  days  you  must  see  and  sjoeak 
with  him  frequently.  It  is  necessary 
that  you  should  consult  together  over 
the  choice  of  color  of  your  costumes, 
and  about  the  dances.  If  your  royal 
highness  will  allow  it,  he  must  come 
daily  to  arrange  these  important 
points,  Alas !  why  am  I  not  a  young 
maiden?      Why  can  I  not  enjoy  <^h< 


FREEERICK  THE  GREAT  AXD  HIS  FRIEXDS. 


^3 


felicity  of  loving  this  Adonis  ?  Why 
can  I  not  exchange  this  poor,  burnt- 
out  heart  for  one  that  glows  and  pal- 
pitates ? " 

"You  are  a  fool,  and  know  nothing 
about  a  maiden's  heart!  In  your  ec- 
stasy for  this  Ganymede,  who  is  proba- 
bly an  old  crippled  monster,  you  make 
rare  confusion.  You  force  the  young 
girl  to  play  the  part  of  the  ardent  lover, 
and  give  to  your  monster  the  character 
of  a  cool,  vain  fop." 

"  Monster  ?  My  God !  she  said  mon- 
ster ! "  cried  PoUnitz,  pathetically. 
"Fall  upon  your  knees,  mademoiselle, 
and  pray  fervently  to  your  good  fortune 
to  forgive  you ;  you  have  sinned  greatly 
against  it,  I  assure  you.  You  will  con- 
fess this  when  I  have  told  you  the  name 
of  your  partner." 

"Name  him,  then,  at  last." 

"  Not  before  Princess  Amelia  is  gra- 
cious enough  to  promise  me  that  she 
will  watch  over  and  shield  you ;  that 
she  will  never  allow  you  a  single  tete-d- 
tete  with  your  dangerous  partner." 

"  Ah,  you  will  make  me  the  duenna 
of  my  maid  of  honor,"  said  Amelia, 
laughing.  "  I  shall  be  the  chaperon  of 
my  good  Marwitz,  and  shield  her  from 
the  weakness  of  her  own  heart." 

"  If  your  royal  highness  declines  to 
give  this  promise.  Mademoiselle  Mar- 
witz shall  have  another  partner.  I  can- 
not answer  to  my  conscience  if  she  is 
left  alone,  unobserved  and  unprotected, 
with  the  most  beautiful  of  the  beau- 
tiful." 

"Be  merciful,  princess,  and  say  yes. 
For  you  sec  well  that  this  terrible  PoU- 
nitz will  make  me  a  martyr  to  curiosity. 
Consent,  gi'acious  princess,  and  then  I 
may  perhaps  hear  the  name  of  my  part- 
ner." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Amelia,  smiling, 
"  I  consent  to  play  Mentor  to  my  maid 
of  honor." 

"Your  royal  highness  promises  then, 
solemnly,  to  be  present  at  every  confer- 


ence between  Mademoiselle  von  Mar- 
witz and  her  irresistible  partner? " 

"  I  promise ;  be  quick !  Marwitz  will 
die  of  curiosity,  if  you  do  not  tell  the 
name  of  this  wonder." 

"  Well,  now,  that  I  have,  so  far  as  it 
is  in  my  power,  guarded  the  heart  of 
this  young  girl  from  disaster,  and 
placed  it  under  the  protecting  eye  of 
our  noble  princess,  I  venture  to  name 
my  paragon.  He  is  the  young  lieuten- 
ant— Baron  von  Trenck,  the  favorite  of 
the  king  and  the  court." 

Very  different  was  the  impression 
made  by  this  name  upon  the  two  ladies. 
The  eager  countenance  of  Mademoiselle 
von  Marwitz  expressed  cool  displeasure ; 
while  the  princess,  blushing  and  con- 
fused, turned  aside  to  conceal  the  happy 
smile  which  played  upon  her  full,  rosy 
lips. 

Pollnitz,  who  had  seen  all  this, 
wished  to  give  the  princess  time  to  col- 
lect herself.  He  turned  to  Mademoi- 
selle Marwitz  and  said :  "  I  see,  to  my 
amazement,  that  our  lovely  maid  of 
honor  is  not  so  enraptured  as  I  had 
hoped.  Mademoiselle,  mademoiselle  I 
you  are  a  wonderful  actress,  but  you 
cannot  deceive  me.  You  wish  to  seem 
disappointed  and  indifferent,  in  order 
to  induce  our  gracious  princess  to  with- 
draw her  promise  to  me,  and  to  think 
it  unnecessary  to  be  present  at  your  in- 
terviews with  Trenck.  This  acting  is 
in  vain.  The  princess  has  given  her 
word,  and  she  will  most  surely  keep 
it." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Amelia,  smiling. 
"I  have  no  alternative.  Queens  and 
princesses,  kings  and  princes,  are  bound 
l)y  their  promises,  even  as  common  men, 
and  their  honor  demands  that  they  fulfil 
their  contracts.  I  will  keep  my  word. 
But  enough  of  jesting  for  the  present. 
Let  us  speak  now  of  the  solemn  reali- 
ties of  life,  namely,  of  our  toilets.  Bar- 
on, give  me  your  model  engraving,  and 
make  known   your  views.     Call   my 


74 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


chambermaid,  mademoiselle,  and  my 
dressmakers ;  we  -will  hold  a  solemn 
conference." 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE    TEMPTER. 


As  Mademoiselle  von  Marwitz  left 
the  room,  Pollnitz  took  a  sealed  note 
from  his  pocket  and  handed  it  hastily 
to  the  princess.  She  concealed  it  in  the 
pocket  of  her  dress,  and  continued  to 
gaze  indifferently  upon  a  painting  of 
Watteau,  which  hung  upon  the  wall. 

"Not  one  word!  Still!  Not  one 
word!"  whispered  Pollnitz.  "You 
are  resolved  to  drive  my  young  friend 
to  despair.  You  will  not  grant  him 
one  gracious  word  ?  " 

The  princess  turned  away  her  blush- 
ing face,  drew  a  note  from  her  bosom, 
and,  without  a  glance  or  word  in  reply, 
she  handed  it  to  the  master  of  ceremo- 
nies, ashamed  and  confused,  as  a  young 
girl  always  is,  when  she  enters  upon 
her  first  love  romance,  or  commits  her 
first  imprudence. 

Pollnitz  kissed  her  hand  with  a 
lover's  rapture.  "  He  will  be  the  most 
blessed  of  mortals,"  said  he,  "  and  yet 
this  is  so  small  a  favor  !  It  lies  in  the 
power  of  your  royal  highness  to  grant 
him  heavenly  felicity.  You  can  fulfil 
one  wish  which  his  trembling  lips  have 
never  dared  to  speak ;  which  only  God 
and  the  eyes  of  one  faithful  friend  have 
Been  written  in  his  heart." 

"Wliat  is  this  wish?"  said  the 
princess,  in  so  low  and  trembling  a 
whisper,  that  Pollnitz  rather  guessed 
than  heard  her  words. 

"  I  believe  that  he  would  pay  with 
his  life  for  the  happiness  of  sitting  one 
hour  at  your  feet  and  gazing  upon 
you." 

"Well,  you  have  prepared  for  him 
this  opportunity  ;  you  ^ave  so  adroitly 


arranged  your  plans,  that  I  cannot 
avoid  meeting  him." 

"  Ah,  princess,  how  despondent  would 
he  be,  if  he  could  hear  these  cold  anc 
cruel  words !  I  must  comfort  him  by 
this  appearance  of  favor,  if  I  cannot  ob- 
tain for  him  a  real  happiness.  Your 
royal  highness  is  very  cold,  very  stern 
toward  my  poor  friend.  My  God  !  he 
asks  only  of  your  grace,  that  which 
the  humblest  of  your  brother's  subjects 
dare  demand  of  him — an  audience — 
that  is  all." 

Amelia  fixed  her  burning  eyes  upon 
Pollnitz.  "  Ajpage^  So.tanas  !  "  she  whis- 
pered, with  a  weary  smile. 

"  You  do  me  too  much  honor,"  said 
Pollnitz.  "Unhappily  I  am  not  the 
devil,  who  is,  without  doubt,  next  to 
God,  the  most  powerful  ruler  of  this 
earth.  I  am  convinced  that  three- 
fourths  of  our  race  belong  to  him.  I 
am,  alas  I  but  a  poor,  weak  mortal,  and 
my  words  have  not  the  power  to  move 
the  heart  of  your  highness  to  pity." 

"  My  God  !  Pollnitz,  why  all  this  elo- 
quence and  intercession  ? "  cried  Amelia. 
"  Do  I  not  allow  him  to  write  to  me 
all  that  he  thinks  and  feels  ?  Am  I  not 
traitress  enough  to  read  all  his  letters, 
and  pardon  him  for  his  love  ?  What 
more  can  he  dare  hope  for  ?  Is  it  not 
enough  that  he  loves  a  princess,  and 
tells  her  so  ?     Not  enough — " 

She  ceased  suddenly ;  her  eyes,  which 
shrank  from  meeting  the  bold,  reproach- 
ful, and  ironical  glance  of  the  baron, 
had  wandered  restlessly  about  the  room 
and  fell  now  upon  the  picture  of  Wat- 
teau ;  upon  the  loving,  happy  pair,  who 
were  tenderly  embracing  under  the  oaka 
in  the  centre  of  that  enchanting  land- 
scape. This  group,  upon  which  the 
eye  of  the  princess  accidentally  rested, 
was  an  eloquent  and  decisive  answer  to 
her  question — an  answer  made  to  the 
eyes,  if  not  the  ears  of  Amelia — and 
her  heart  trembled. 

Pollnitz   had  followed  her  glancea, 


FBEDEHICK   THE  GREAT   AND  HIS   FRIENDS. 


75 


fcnd  understood  her  blushes  and  her  con- 
fusion. He  stepped  to  the  picture  and 
pointed  to  the  tender  lovers. 

"Gracious  princess,  demand  of  these 
blessed  ones,  if  a  man  who  loves  pas- 
sionately has  nothing  more  to  implore 
of  his  mistress  than  the  permission  to 
write  her  letters  ? " 

Amelia  trembled.  She  fixed  her  eyes 
with  an  expression  of  absolute  terror 
upon  Pollnitz,  who  with  his  fox  smile 
and  immovable  composure  gazed  stead- 
ily in  her  face.  He  had  no  pity  for  her 
girlish  confusion,  for  her  modest  and 
maidenly  alarm.  With  gay,  mocking, 
and  frivolous  jests,  he  resolved  to  over- 
come her  fears.  He  painted  in  glowing 
colors  the  anguish  and  despair  of  her 
young  lover;  he  assured  her  that  she 
could  grant  him  a  meeting  in  her  rooms 
without  danger  from  curious  eyes  or 
ears.  Did  not  the  room  of  the  princess 
open  upon  this  little  dark  corridor,  in 
which  no  guard  was  ever  placed,  and 
fj'om  which  a  small,  neglected  stairway 
led  to  the  lower  Stage  of  the  castle  ? 
This  stairway  opened  into  an  unoccu- 
pied room,  the  low  windows  of  which 
looked  out  upon  the  garden  of  Mon- 
bijou.  Nothing,  then,  was  necessary 
but  to  withdraw  the  bar  from  these 
windows  during  the  day  ;  they  could 
then  be  noiselessly  opened  by  night, 
and  the  room  of  the  princess  safely 
reached. 

The  princess  was  silent.  By  no  look 
or  smile,  no  contraction  of  the  brow  or 
expression  of  displeasure,  did  she  show 
her  emotion,  but  she  listened  to  these 
vile  and  dangerous  words ;  she  let  the 
poison  of  the  tempter  enter  her  heart ; 
she  had  neither  the  strength  nor  will  to 
reject  his  counsel,  or  banish  him  from 
her  presence ;  she  had  only  the  power  to 
be  silent,  and  to  conceal  from  Pollnitz, 
that  her  better  self  was  overcome. 

"  I  shall  soon  reach  the  goal,"  said 
Pollnitz,  clapping  his  hands  merrily 
after  leaving  the  princess.    "  Yes,  yes  ! 


the  heart  of  the  little  Princess  Amelia 
is  subdued,  and  her  love  is  like  a  ripe 
fruit — ^ready  to  be  plucked  by  the  first 
eager  hand.  And  this,  my  proud  and 
cruel  King  Frederick,  will  be  my  re- 
venge. I  will  return  shame  for  shame. 
If  the  good  people  in  the  streets  rejoice 
to  hear  the  humiliation  and  shame  put 
upon  the  Baron  von  Pollnitz,  cried 
aloud  at  the  comers,  I  think  they  wiU 
enjoy  no  less  the  scandal  about  the 
little  Princess  Amelia.  This  will  not, 
to  be  sure,  be  trumpeted  through  the 
streets ;  but  the  voice  of  Slander  is  pow- 
erful, and  her  lightest  whispers  are 
eagerly  received." 

Pollnitz  gave  himself  up  for  a  while 
to  these  wicked  and  cruel  thoughts, 
and  he  looked  like  a  demon  rejoicing 
in  the  anguish  of  his  victims.  He  soon 
smoothed  his  brow,  however,  and  as- 
sumed his  accustomed  gay  and  unem- 
baiTassed  manner. 

"  But  before  I  revenge  myself,  I  must 
be  paid,"  said  he,  with  an  internal 
chuckle.  "  I  shall  be  the  chosen  confi- 
dant in  this  adventure,  and  my  name  is 
not  Pollnitz  if  I  do  not  realize  a  large 
profit.  Oh,  King  Frederick,  King 
Frederick !  I  think  the  little  Amelia 
will  pay  but  small  attention  to  your 
command  and  your  menace.  She  will 
lend  the  poor  Pollnitz  gold  ;  yes,  gold, 
much  gold !  and  I — I  will  pay  her  by 
my  silence." 

Giving  himself  up  to  these  happy 
thoughts,  the  master  of  ceremonies 
sought  the  young  lieutenant,  in  order 
to  hand  him  the  letter  of  the  princess. 

"  The  fortress  is  ready  to  surrender," 
cried  he ;  "  advance  and  storm  it,  and 
you  will  enter  the  open  door  of  the 
heart  as  conqueror.  I  have  prepared 
the  way  for  you  to  see  the  princess 
every  day ;  make  use  of  your  oppor 
tunities  like  a  brave,  handsome,  young^ 
and  loving  cavalier.  I  predict  you  will 
soon  be  a  general,  or  a  prince,  or  some 
thing  great  and  envied." 


76 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


"  A  general,  a  prince,  or  a  high  traitor, 
who  must  lay  his  head  upon  the  block 
and  expiate  his  guilt  with  his  life," 
said  Trenck,  thoughtfully.  "  Let  it  be 
so.  In  order  to  become  this  high  trai- 
tor, I  must  first  be  the  happiest,  the 
most  enviable  of  men.  I  shall  not 
think  that  too  dearly  paid  for  by  my 
heart's  blood.  Oh,  Amelia,  Amelia !  I 
love  thee  boundlessly ;  thou  art  my  hap- 
piness, my  salvation,  my  hope  ;  thou — " 

"Enough,  enough!"  said  Pollnitz, 
laughing,  and  placing  his  hands  upon 
his  ears.  "  These  are  well-known,  well- 
used,  and  much-abused  phrases,  which 
have  been  repeated  in  all  languages 
since  the  time  of  Adam,  and  which 
after  all  are  only  lovely  and  fantastic 
lies.  Act,  my  young  friend,  but  say 
nothing ;  you  know  that  walls  have 
ears.  The  table  ujjon  which  you  write 
your  letters,  and  the  portfolio  in  which 
you  place  the  letters  of  the  jjrincess,  to 
be  guarded  to  all  eternity,  both  have 
prying  eyes.  Prudence,  prudence  ! — 
burn  the  lettere  of  the  princess,  and 
write  your  own  with  sympathetic  ink, 
or  in  cipher,  so  that  no  man  can  read 
them,  and  none  but  God  and  the  devil 
may  know  your  dangerous  secret." 

Trenck  did  not  hear  one  word  of 
this:  he  was  too  happy,  too  impas- 
sioned, too  young,  to  listen  to  the  words 
of  warning  and  caution  of  the  old 
roue.  He  read  again  and  again,  and 
with  ever-increasing  rapture,  the  letter 
of  the  princess;  he  pressed  it  to  his 
throbbing  heart  and  glowing  lips,  and 
fixed  his  loving  eyes  upon  those  charac- 
ters which  her  hand  had  written  and 
her  heart  had  dictated. 

Pollnitz  looked  at  him  with  a  sub- 
dued smile,  and  enjoyed  his  raptures, 
even  as  the  fox  enjoys  the  graceful 
flapping  of  the  wings,  the  gentle  move- 
ments of  the  dove,  when  he  knows  that 
she  cannot  escape  him,  and  grants  her 
a  few  moments  of  happiness  ))efore  he 
si^i-ings  upon    and  strangles  her.     "I 


wager  that  you  know  that  letter  by 
heart,"  said  he,  as  he  slowly  lighted  a 
match  in  order  to  kindle  his  cigar; 
"am  I  not  right?  do  you  not  know  it 
by  heart  ? " 

"  Every  word  is  written  in  letters  of 
flame  upon  my  heart." 

With  a  sudden  movement,  the  baron 
snatched  the  paper  from  the  young 
man  and  held  it  in  the  flames. 

"  Stop  !  stop  !  "  cried  Frederick  von 
Trenck,  and  he  tried  to  tear  the  letter 
from  him. 

Pollnitz  kept  him  ofl"  with  one  arm 
and  waved  the  burning  paper  over  his 
head. 

"  My  God !  what  have  you  done  ? '' 
cried  the  young  man. 

"I  have  made  a  sacrifice  to  the  god 
of  silence,"  said  he,  solemnly;  "I  have 
burnt  this  paper  lest  it  might  be  used 
to  light  the  scaff"old  upon  which  you 
may  one  day  bum  as  a  high  traitor. 
Thank  me,  young  man.  I  have  perhaps 
saved  you  from  discovery  and  from 
death." 


CHAPTER  HI. 

THE   W^EDDIKQ   FESTIVAL   OF  THE   PRIS 
CESS  ULRICA. 

Truly  this  perfidious  friend  had,  for 
one  day,  guarded  the  secret  of  the 
young  lovers  from  discovery ;  but  the 
poison,  which  Pollnitz  in  his  worldly 
cunning  prepared  for  them,  had  entered 
into  their  hearts.  For  some  days 
they  met  under  strong  restraint;  on- 
ly by  stolen  glances  and  sighs,  by  ? 
momentary  pressure  of  the  hand,  or  a 
few  lightly-murmured  words,  could 
they  give  expression  to  their  rapture 
and  their  passion.  The  presence  of 
another  held  their  hearts  and  lips  in 
bondage. 

Pollnitz  knew  full  well  that  there 
was  no  surer  means  to  induce  a  young 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT   AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


77 


girl  to  grant  her  lover  an  interview 
than  to  force  them  to  meet  before 
strange  -witnesses,  to  bring  every  word 
and  look  into  captivity,  to  condemn 
them  to  silence  and  seeming  indiffer- 
ence. The  glowing  heart  bounds 
against  these  iron  bands ;  it  longs  to  cast 
oflf  the  yoke  of  silence,  and  to  breathe 
unfettered  as  the  wanton  air.  Princess 
Amelia  had  borne  two  days  of  this 
martyrdom,  and  her  courage  failed. 
She  was  resolved  to  grant  him  a  private 
interview  so  soon  as  he  dared  ask  for  it. 
She  wished  to  see  this  handsome  face, 
now  clouded  by  melancholy,  illumina- 
ted by  the  sunshine  of  happiness ;  those 
sad  eyes  "should  look  up  clear,  and 
the  sorrowful  lips  should  smile ;  she 
would  make  her  lover  happy ! "  She 
thought  only  of  this ;  it  was  her  only 
wish. 

There  were  many  sad  hours  of  pain 
and  anguish,  sad  hours  in  which  she 
saw  her  danger,  and  wished  to  escape. 
In  her  despair  and  agony  she  was  al- 
most ready  to  cast  herself  at  the  feet  of 
ber  mother,  to  confess  all,  and  seek 
this  sure  protection  against  her  own 
girlish  weakness ;  but  the  voice  of  love 
in  her  heart  held  her  back  from  this 
step ;  she  closed  her  eyes  to  the  abyss 
which  was  before  her,  and  pressed  pant- 
ing onward  to  the  brink.  If  Amelia 
had  had  a  fiiend,  a  sister  whom  she  could 
love  and  trust,  she  might  have  been 
saved ;  but  her  rank  made  a  true  friend 
impossible ;  being  a  princess,  she  was 
isolated.  Her  only  friend  and  sister 
had  alienated  her  heart,  through  the 
intrigues  by  which  she  had  won  the 
crown  of  Sweden. 

Perhaps  these  costly  and  magnificent 
wedding  festivities  which  would  have 
been  prepared  for  her,  had  she  not  re- 
fused a  husband  worthy  of  her  birth, 
aroused  her  anger,  and  in  her  rage  and 
her  despair  she  entered  upon  dangerous 
paths,  and  fell  into  the  cruel  snares  of 
PoUnitz.     She  said  to  herself:  "  Yes, 


all  this  honor  and  glory  was  my  own, 
but  my  weak  heart  and  my  perfldions 
sister  wrenched  them  from  my  grasp. 
Fate  offered  me  a  way  of  escape,  but 
my  sister  cast  me  into  the  abyss  in 
which  I  now  stand ;  upon  her  rests  the 
responsibility.  Upon  her  head  be  my 
tears,  my  despair,  my  misery,  and  my 
shame.  Ulrica  prevented  me  from  be- 
ing a  queen:  well,  then,  I  will  be 
simply  a  young  girl,  who  loves  and 
who  offers  up  all  to  her  beloved,  her 
pride,  her  rank,  and  the  unstained 
greatness  of  her  ancestors.  For  Ulrica 
be  honor,  pomp,  and  power;  for  me 
the  mystery  of  love,  and  a  girl's  silent 
happiness.  Who  can  say  which  of  ua 
is  most  to  be  envied  ? " 

These  were  indeed  happy,  sunny 
days,  which  were  prepared  for  the 
bride  of  Adolph  Frederick  of  Holstein, 
the  Crown  Prince  of  Sweden.  Fete 
succeeded  io  fete.  The  whole  land  took 
part  in  the  happiness  of  the  royal  fam- 
ily. All  the  jJrovinces  and  cities  sent 
deputations  to  congratulate  the  king, 
and  bring  rich  gifts  to  the  princess; 
she  who  had  been  always  cast  into  the 
shade  by  the  more  noble  and  bewilder- 
ing beauty  of  her  younger  sister,  had 
now  become  the  centre  of  attraction  in  all 
these  superb  festivities  which  followed 
each  other  in  quick  succession.  It  was 
in  honor  of  the  Princess  Ulrica  that  the 
king  gave  a  masked  ball  in  the  opera- 
house,  to  which  the  whole  city  was  in- 
vited ;  for  her,  on  the  evening  of  her 
betrothal,  every  street  in  Berlin  was 
brilliantly  illuminated  with  wax-lights, 
not  by  command  of  the  king,  but  as  a 
free-will  offering  of  the  people ;  for  her 
the  queen,  at  Schonhausen,  gave  a  su- 
perb ball ;  for  her  the  Swedish  ambas- 
sador arranged  a  fete,  whose  fabulous 
pomp  and  extravagant  luxury  were 
supijosed  to  indicate  the  splendor 
which  awaited  her  in  her  new  home. 
Lastly,  this  ball  at  the  royal  palace,  to 
which  not  only  the  nobles,  btt  nwnv 


78 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI      OR, 


of  tLe  wealthy  burghers  were  invited, 
was  intended  as  a  special  compliment 
to  Ulrica. 

More  than  three  thousand  persons 
moved  gayly  through  these  royal  sa- 
loons, odorous  with  the  perfume  of 
flowers,  glittering  with  wax-lights,  the 
glimmer  of  diamonds,  and  rich  gold 
and  silver  embroideries — nothing  was  to 
be  seen  but  ravishing  toilets  and  happy 
faces.  All  the  beauty,  youth,  rank,  fame, 
and  worth  of  Berlin  were  assembled  at 
the  palace ;  and  behind  these  lovely  la- 
dies and  glittering  cavaliers,  the  won- 
dering, gaping  crowd,  of  common  men, 
moved  slowly  onward,  dumb  with 
amazement  and  delight.  The  king  had 
commanded  that  no  well-dressed  per- 
son should  be  denied  entrance  to  the 
castle. 

Those  who  had  cards  of  invitation 
were  the  guests  of  the  king,  and  wan- 
dered freely  through  the  saloons. 
Those  who  came  without  cards  had  to 
content  themselves  behind  the  silken 
rope  stretched  across  one  side  of  the 
rooms ;  by  means  of  this  rope  an  almost 
invisible  and  yet  an  insurmountable 
barrier  was  interposed  between  the 
people  and  the  court  circle. 

It  was  difficult  to  preserve  the  rules 
and  customs  of  courtly  etiquette  in  such 
a  vast  assembly,  and  more  difficult  still 
to  see  that  every  man  was  received  and 
served  as  the  guest  of  a  king,  and  suit- 
able to  his  own  personal  merit.  Crowds 
of  lackeys  flew  through  the  rooms  bear- 
ing silver  plateaux  filled  with  the  rich- 
est viands,  the  most  costly  fruits,  and 
the  rarest  wines.  Tables  were  loaded 
with  the  luxuries  of  every  clime  and 
season,  and  the  clang  of  glasses  and  the 
sweet  sound  of  haj)py  laughter  were 
heard  in  every  direction.  The  king  ex- 
pressed a  proud  confidence  in  his  good 
people  of  Berlin,  and  declined  the  ser- 
vices of  the  police.  He  commissioned 
some  officers  of  his  lifeguard  to  act  as 
his  subsfitute  and  play  the  host,  attend- 


ing to  the  wants  and  pleasures  of  all. 
Supper  wag  prepared  in  the  picture- 
gallery  for  the  court  circle. 

But  what  means  this  wild  laughter 
which  echoes  suddenly  through  the  vast 
crowd  and  reaches  the  ear  of  the  king, 
who  looks  up  surprised  and  question- 
ing to  his  master  of  ceremonies,  and 
orders  him  to  investigate  the  tumult. 
In  a  few  moments  PoUnitz  returned, 
accompanied  by  a  young  officer,  whose 
tall  and  graceful  figure,  and  whose 
handsome  face,  glowing  with  youth, 
pride,  and  energy,  attracted  the  atten- 
ti<m  of  the  noblest  ladies,  and  won  a 
smile  of  admiraticm  from  the  queen- 
mother. 

"  Sire,"  said  Pollnitz,  "  a  mask  in  the 
guise  of  a  thief,  and  in  the  zealous  pur- 
suit of  his  calling,  has  robbed  one  of 
the  officers  who  were  commanded  by 
your  majesty  to  guard  the  public  peace 
and  property.  Look,  your  majesty,  at 
our  young  lieutenant.  Von  Trenck  :  in 
the  midst  of  the  crowd,  his  rich,  gold- 
embroidered  scarf  has  been  adroitly  re- 
moved ;  in  his  zeal  for  your  service,  he 
forgot  himself,  and  the  merry  gnome, 
whom  Trenck  should  have  kept  in  order, 
has  made  our  officer  the  target  for  his 
sleight  of  hand.  This  jest,  sire,  caused 
the  loud  laughter  which  you  heard." 

The  eyes  of  the  king  rested  with  an 
expression  of  kindliness  and  admira- 
tion upon  the  young  man,  and  the 
Princess  Amelia  felt  her  heart  tremble 
with  joy  and  hope.  A  rich  crimson 
suflfused  her  cheeks;  it  made  her  al- 
most happy  to  see  that  her  lover  was 
appreciated  by  her  exalted  brother  and 
king. 

"  I  have  watched  and  wondered  at 
him  during  the  whole  evening,"  said 
the  king,  merrily ;  "  his  glance,  like  the 
eye  of  Providence,  pierces  the  most  dis- 
tant and  most  obscure  comer,  and  sees 
all  that  occurs.  That  he  who  sees  all 
else  has  forgotten  himself,  proves  that 
he  is  not  vain,  and  that  he  forgets  hia 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AXD   HIS  FRIENDS. 


t9 


OAvn  interest  in  the  discharge  of  his 
public  duties.  I  will  remember  this 
arid  reward  him,  not  in  the  gay  saloon, 
but  on  the  battle-field,  where,  I  am  sure, 
his  scarf  w  ill  not  be  taken  from  him." 

Frederick  gave  his  hand  to  the  young 
officer,  who  pressed  it  warmly  to  his 
lips ;  then  turning  to  the  queen-mother, 
he  said :  "  Madame,  I  know  that  this 
young  man  has  been  commended  to 
you,  allow  me  also  to  bespeak  your 
favor  in  his  behalf;  will  your  majesty 
have  the  grace  to  instruct  him  in  all 
the  qualities  which  should  adorn  a  no- 
ble cavalier  ?  I  will  make  him  a  war- 
rior, and  then  we  shall  possess  a  noble- 
man beyond  praise,  if  not  beyond  com- 
parison." 

The  king,  rising  from  the  table,  left 
his  seat  and  laid  his  hand  kindly  upon 
Trenck's  shoulder.  "  He  is  tall  enough," 
said  Frederick  laughing;  "for  that  he 
may  thank  Providence;  let  him  not  be 
satisfied  with  that,  but  strive  to  be 
great,  and  for  that  he  may  thank  him- 
self." He  nodded  graciously  to  Trenck, 
gave  his  arm  to  the  queen-mother,  and 
led  her  into  the  ballroom. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

BEHIND   THE   CUKTAIK. 

The  crowd  and  heat  of  the  dancing- 
saloon  were  intolerable.  All  wished  to 
see  the  quadrille  in  which  the  two  prin- 
cesses, the  loveliest  women  of  the  court, 
and  the  most  gallant  cavaliers  were  to 
appear.  The  music  also  was  a  special 
object  of  interest,  as  it  was  composed 
by  the  king.  The  first  quadrille  closed 
m  the  midst  of  tumultuous  applause, 
restrained  by  no  courtly  etiquette.  The 
partners  for  the  second  quadrille  ad- 
vanced to  the  gay  and  inspiring  sound 
of  pipes  and  drums. 

The  Princess  Amelia  had  withdrawn 


from  the  crowd  into  a  window  recess. 
She  was  breathless  and  exhausted  from 
the  dance  and  the  excitement  of  the 
last  few  days.  She  required  a  few  mo- 
ments of  rest,  of  refreshment,  and  med- 
itation; she  drew  the  heavy  silk 
curtains  carefully  together,  and  seated 
herself  upon  a  little  tabouret  which 
stood  in  the  recess.  This  quiet  retreat, 
this  isolation  from  the  thoughtless 
crowd,  brought  peace  to  her  soul.  It 
was  happiness  to  close  her  weary  eyes, 
and  indulge  in  sweet  dreams  to  the 
sound  of  this  glorious  music ;  to  feel 
herself  shut  off  from  the  laughing, 
heartless  crowd.  • 

She  leaned  her  lovely  head  upon  the 
cushion,  not  to  sleep  but  to  dream. 
She  thought  of  her  sister,  who  w^ould 
soon  place  a  crown  upon  her  head ; 
who  had  sold  herself  for  this  crown  to 
a  man  whom  she  had  never  seen,  and 
of  whom  she  knew  nothing,  but  that 
he  was  heir  to  a  throne.  Amelia  shud- 
dered at  the  thought  that  Ulrica  had 
sacrificed  her  religion  to  this  man, 
whom  she  knew  not,  and  had  promised 
at  God's  altar  to  love  and  be  faithful 
to  him.  In  the  pmity  and  innocence 
of  her  girlish  heart  she  considered  this 
a  crime,  a  sacrilege  against  love,  truth, 
and  faith.  "  I  will  never  follow  Ulrica's 
example,"  she  whispered  to  herself.  "  I 
will  never  sell  myself.  I  will  obey  the 
dictates  of  my  heart  and  give  myself 
to  the  man  I  love."  As  she  said  this,  a 
crimson  glow  overspread  her  cheeks, 
and  she  opened  her  eyes  wide,  as  if  she 
hoped  to  see  the  man  she  loved  before 
her,  and  wished  him  to  read  in  her 
steady  glance  the  sweet  confirmation 
of  the  words  she  had  so  lightly  whis- 
pered. 

"  No,  no !  I  will  never  marry  withoul 
love.  I  love,  and  as  there  can  be  but 
one  true  love  in  a  true  life,  I  shall  never 
marry — ^then — "  She  ceased  and  bowed 
her  head  upon  her  bosom,  her  trembling 
lips  refused  to  speak  the  hope   and 


80 


BERLm  AND   SANS-SOUCf;    OR, 


dream  of  her  heart,  to  give  words  to 
the  wild,  passionate  thoughts  which 
burned  like  lava  in  her  breast,  and,  like 
the  wild  rush  of  many  waters,  drowned 
her  reason.  She  thought  that  in  the 
eloquence  of  her  great  love  she  might 
touch  the  heart  of  the  king,  and  in  the 
magnanimity  of  his  soul  he  might  allow 
her  to  be  happy,  to  place  a  simple  myr- 
tle-wreath upon  her  brow.  She  re- 
peated the  friendly  and  admiring  words 
which  the  king  had  spoken  to  her  lover. 
She  saw  again  those  wondrous  eyes 
resting  with  interest  and  admiration 
upon  the  splendid  fonn  of  the  young 
bgron.  A  happy,  playful  smile  was  on 
her  lip.  "  The  king  himself  finds  him 
handsome  and  attractive;  he  cannot 
then  wonder  that  his  sister  shares  his 
opinion.  He  will  think  it  natural  that 
I  love  him — that — " 

A  wild  stoi-m  of  applause  in  the  sa- 
loon interrupted  the  current  of  her 
thoughts.  She  drew  the  curtains 
slightly  apart,  and  gazed  into  the  room. 
The  second  quadrille  was  ended,  and 
the  dancers  were  now  sinking  upon  the 
tabourets,  almost  breathless  from  fa- 
tigue. 

The  princess  could  not  only  see,  but 
she  could  hear.  Two  ladies  stood  just 
in  front  of  the  curtains  behind  which 
she  was  concealed;  engaged  in  earnest 
conversation,  they  spoke  of  Frederick 
von  Trenck ;  they  were  enraptured 
with  his  athletic  form  and  glowing 
eyes. 

"  He  has  the  face  of  a  Ganymede  and 
the  figure  of  a  Hercules,"  said  one.  "I 
think  him  as  beautiful  as  the  Apollo 
Belvidere,''  said  the  other ;  "  and  then 
his  expression  is  so  pure  and  innocent. 
I  envy  the  woman  who  will  be  his  first 
love." 

"  You  think,  then,  that  he  has  never 
loved?" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  The  passion  and 
fire  of  his  heart  is  yet  concealed  under 
the  veil  of  youth.     He  is  unmoved  by 


a  woman's  tender  smile  and  her  speak 
ing  and  promising  glances.  He  does 
not  understand  their  meaning." 

"Have  you  tried  these  powerful 
weapons  ? " 

"  I  have,  and  I  confess  wholly  in  vain, 
but  I  have  not  given  up  the  contest, 
and  I  shall  renew  the  attack  until — " 

The  ladies  now  moved  slowly  away, 
and  the  princess  heard  no  more,  but 
she  knew  their  voices ;  they  were 
Madame  von  Brandt  and  Louise  von 
Kleist,  whom  the  king  often  called  the 
"  loveliest  of  the  lovely."  Louise  von 
Kleist,  the  irresistible  coquette,  who 
was  always  surrounded  with  worship- 
pers and  adorers,  confessed  to  her  friend 
that  all  her  tender  glances  had  been  un- 
availing; that  she  had  in  vain  attempt- 
ed to  melt  the  ice-rind  of  his  heart. 

"  But  she  will  renew  her  efforts," 
cried  Amelia,  and  her  heart  trembled 
with  its  first  throb  of  jealousy.  "  Oh, 
I  know  Louise  von  Kleist!  She  will 
pursue  him  with  her  tenderness,  her 
glances  of  love,  and  bold  encourage- 
ment, until  he  admires,  falls  at  her  feet 
a  willing  victim.  But  no,  no,  I  cannot 
suffer  that.  She  shall  not  rob  me  of 
my  only  happiness — the  golden  dream 
of  my  young  life.  He  belongs  to  me, 
he  is  mine  by  the  mighty  power  of 
passion,  he  is  bound  to  me  by  a  thou- 
sand holy  oaths.  I  am  his  first  love. 
I  am  that  happy  woman  whom  he 
adores,  and  who  is  loved  by  the  beau- 
teous Louise  A^on  Schwerin.  He  is 
mine  and  he  shall  be  mine  in  spite  of 
the  whole  world.  I  love  him,  and  I 
give  myself  to  him." 

And  now  she  once  more  looked 
through  the  curtains  and  shrank  back 
in  sweet  surprise.  Right  before  her 
stood  Trenck — the  Apollo  of  Louise 
von  Kleist,  the  Hercules  and  the  Gany- 
mede of  Madame  von  Brandt,  the  be- 
loved of  the  Princess  Amelia — Trenck 
stood  with  folded  arms  immovable, 
and  gazed  piercingly  in  the  crowd  of 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


81 


maskers.  Perhaps  lie  sought  for 
Amelia;  perhaps  he  was  sorrowful  be- 
cause she  had  withdrawn  herself. 

Suddenly  he  heard  a  soft,  low  voice 
whispering :  "  Do  not  move,  do  not 
turn — remain  standing  as  you  are;  but 
if  you  hear  and  understand  me,  bow 
your  head." 

Frederick  von  Trenck  bowed  his 
head.  But  the  princess  could  not  see 
the  rapturous  expression  which  illumi- 
nated his  face ;  she  could  not  know 
that  his  breath  almost  failed  him  ;  she 
could  not  liear  the  stormy,  tumultuous 
beating  of  his  heart. 

"  Do  you  know  who  speaks  ?  if  you 
recognize  me,  incline  your  head." 

The  music  sounded  loud  and  clear, 
and  the  dancing  feet,  the  gay  jest,  and 
merry  laughter  of  five  hundred  persons 
gave  confidence  and  security  to  the 
lovers.  Frederick  was  not  content 
with  this  silent  sign.  He  turned  tow- 
ard the  recess  and  said  in  low  tones: 
"  I  know  the  voice  of  my  angel,  and  I 
would  fall  upon  my  knees  and  worship 
her,  but  it  would  bring  danger  and  sep- 
aration." 

"  Still !  say  no  more,"  whispered  the 
voice;  and  Trenck  knew  by  its  trem- 
bling tones,  that  the  maiden  was  in- 
spired by  the  same  ardent  passion  which 
glowed  in  every  fibre  of  his  being. 
That  still  small  voice  sounded  in  his 
ears  like  the  notes  of  an  organ  :  "  Say 
no  more,  but  listen.  To-morrow  the 
Princess  Ulrica  departs  for  Sweden, 
and  the  king  goes  to  Potsdam ;  you 
will  accompany  him.  Have  you  a 
swift  horse  that  knows  the  way  from 
Potsdam  to  Berlin,  and  can  find  it  by 
night  ? " 

"  I  have  a  swift  horse,  and  for  me 
and  my  horse  there  is  no  night." 

"  Four  nights  from  this,  you  will 
And  the  window  which  you  know  open, 
and  the  door  which  leads  to  the  small 
stair,  only  closed.  Come  at  the  hour  of 
eleven,  and  you  will  receive  a  compen- 
6 


sation  for  the  scarf  you  have  lost  this 
evening.  Hush — ^no  word ;  look  not 
around,  move  onward  indifferently; 
turn  not  your  head.  Farewell !  in  four 
days — at  eleven — ^go !  " 

'^  I  had  to  prepare  a  coat  of  mail  for 
him,  in  order  that  he  might  be  invul- 
nerable," whispered  Amelia  trembling- 
ly ;  exhausted  and  remorseful,  she  sank 
back  upon  the  tabowet.  "  The  beauti- 
ful Kleist  shall  not  ravish  my  beloved 
from  me.  He  loves  me — me  alone ;  and 
he  shall  no  longer  complain  of  my 
cruelty.  I  dare  not  be  cruel !  1  dare 
not  make  him  unhappy,  for  she  might 
comfort  him.  He  shall  love  nothing 
but  me,  only  me  !  If  Louise  von  Kleist 
pursues  him  with  her  arts,  I  will  mur- 
der her — that  is  all !  " 


CHAPTER  V. 

A   SnAME-FACED  KCSTG. 

The  king  laid  his  flute  aside,  and 
walked  restlessly  and  sullenly  about 
his  room.  His  brow  was  clouded,  and 
he  had  in  vain  sought  distraction  in  his 
faithful  friend,  the  flute.  Its  soft  me- 
lodious voice  brought  no  relief;  the 
cloud  was  in  his  heart,  and  made  him 
the  slave  of  melancholy.  Perhaps  it 
was  the  pain  of  sejiaration  from  his 
sister  which  oppressed  his  spirit. 

The  evening  before,  the  princess  had 
taken  leave  of  the  Berliners  at  the 
opera-house,  that  is,  she  had  shown 
herself  to  them  for  the  last  time. 
While  the  prima  donna  was  singing  her 
most  enchanting  melodies,  the  travel- 
ling-carriage of  Ulrica  drove  to  the 
door.  The  king  wished  to  spare  him- 
self the  agony  of  a  formal  parting,  and 
had  ordered  that  she  should  enter  her 
carriage  at  the  close  of  the  opera,  and 
depart,  without  saying  farewell. 

The  people  knew  this.     They  were 


82 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


atlerly  indifferent  to  the  beautiful 
opera  of  "  Rodelinda,"  and  fixed  their 
eye3  steadily  upon  the  king's  loge. 
They  thus  took  a  silent  and  affection- 
ate leave  of  their  young  princess,  who 
appeared  before  them  for  the  last  time, 
in  all  the  splendor  of  her  youth  and 
beauty,  and  the  dignity  of  her  proud 
and  royal  bearing.  An  unwonted  si- 
lence reigned  throughout  the  house; 
all  eyes  were  turned  to  the  box  where 
the  princess  sat  between  the  two  queens. 
Suddenly  the  door  was  thrown  open, 
and  the  young  Prince  Ferdinand 
rushed,  with  open  arms,  to  his  sister. 

"  My  dear,  dear  Ulrica  ! "  he  cried, 
weeping  and  sobbing  painfully,  "  must 
it  then  be  so  ?  Do  I  indeed  see  you  for 
the  last  time  ? "  With  childish  eager- 
ness he  embraced  his  sister,  and  leaned 
his  head  upon  her  bosom.  The  prin- 
cess could  no  longer  control  herself; 
she  mingled  her  teai's  with  those  of  her 
brother,  and  drawing  him  softly  out  of 
view,  she  whispered  weeping  and  trem- 
bling words  of  tenderness;  she  im- 
plored him  not  to  forget  her,  and  prom- 
ised to  love  him  always. 

The  queen-mother  stood  near.  She 
had  forgotten  that  she  was  a  queen, 
and  remembered  only  that  she  was  a 
mother  about  to  lose  her  child  forever ; 
the  thought  of  royal  dignity  and 
courtly  etiquette  was  for  some  mo- 
ments banished  from  her  proud  heart ; 
she  saw  her  children  heart-broken  and 
weeping  before  her,  and  she  wept  with 
them.* 

The  people  saw  this.  Never  had  the 
most  gracious  smile,  the  most  conde- 
scending word  of  her  majesty,  won 
their  hearts  so  completely  as  these 
tears  of  the  mother.  Every  mother 
felt  for  this  woman,  who,  though  a 
queen,  suffered  a  mother's  anguish ;  and 
every  maiden  wept  for  this  young  girl, 


•  Schneiders  "History  of  tlie  Opera  and   the 
Royal  Opera-Honsa." 


who,  although  entering  upon  a  splendid 
future,  shed  hot  tears  over  the  happy 
past  and  the  beloved  home.  When  the 
men  saw  their  wives  and  children 
weeping,  and  the  prince  not  ashamed 
of  his  tears,  they  also  wept,  from  sym- 
pathy and  love  to  the  royal  house.  In 
place  of  the  gay  jests  and  merry  laugh- 
ter wont  to  prevail  between  the  acts, 
scarcely  suppressed  sobs  were  the  only 
sounds  to  be  heard.  The  glorious 
singer  Salimberri  was  unapplauded. 
The  Barbarina  danced,  but  the  accus- 
tomed bravos  were  hushed. 

Was  it  the  remembrance  of  this 
touching  scene  which  moved  the  king 
so  profoundly  ?  Did  this  eternal  sepa- 
ration from  his  beloved  sister  weigh 
upon  his  heart?  The  king  himself 
knew  not,  or  he  would  not  acknowl- 
edge to  himself  what  emotion  pro- 
duced this  wild  unrest.  After  laying 
his  flute  aside,  he  took  up  Livy,  which 
lay  always  upon  his  writing-table,  and 
tried  to  read  a  chapter ;  but  the  let- 
ters danced  before  his  eyes,  and  his 
thoughts  wandered  far  away  from  the 
old  Roman.  He  threw  the  book 
peevishly  aside,  and,  folding  his  arms, 
walked  rapidly  backward  and  for- 
ward. 

"  Ah  me !  ah  me !  I  wish  this  were 
the  day  of  battle ! "  he  murmured. 
"To-day  I  should  be  surely  victori- 
ous! I  am  in  a  fierce  and  desperate 
mood.  The  wild  roar  of  conflict  would 
be  welcome  as  a  sweet  home  song  in  a 
strange  land,  and  the  shedding  of  blood 
would  be  medicinal,  and  relieve  my  op- 
pressed brain.  What  is  it  which  has 
drawn  this  evil  over  my  spirit  ?  What 
mighty  and  mysterious  power  has 
stretched  her  hand  over  me  ?  With 
what  bonds  am  I  held  a  helpless  cap- 
tive? I  feel,  but  I  cannot  see  them, 
and  cannot  tear  them  apart.  No,  no  1 
I  will  be  lord  of  myself.  I  will  be  no 
sighing  dreamer.  I  will  live  a  true 
life.     I  will  work,  and  be  a  faithful 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


83 


rnler,  if  I  cannot  be  a  free  and  happy 
man." 

He  rang  the  bell,  and  ordered  the 
ministers  to  assemble  for  a  cabinet 
council. 

"  I  will  work,  and  forget  every  thing 
else,"  he  said,  with  a  sad  smile,  and  en- 
tered his  cabinet  with  this  jjroud  resolve. 

Tliis  time  the  king  deceived  himself. 
The  most  earnest  occupation  did  not 
drive  the  cloud  from  his  brow  :  in  fact, 
it  became  more  lowering. 

"  I  cannot  endure  this,"  he  said,  af- 
ter walking  backward  and  forward 
thoughtfully.  "  I  will  put  a  stop  to  it. 
As  I  am  not  a  Ulysses,  I  do  not  see 
why  I  should  blind  my  eyes,  and  stop 
my  ears  with  wax,  in  order  not  to  see 
this  bewildering  siren,  and  hear  her  in- 
toxicating song.  In  this  sorrowful  and 
pitiful  world,  is  it  not  a  happiness  to 
meet  with  an  enchantress,  to  bow  down 
to  the  magic  of  her  charms,  and  for 
a  small  half  hour  to  dream  of  bliss? 
All  other  men  are  mad:  why  should 
I  alone  be  reasonable?  Come,  then, 
spirit  of  love  and  bliss,  heavenly  insan- 
ity, take  possession  of  my  struggling 
?oul.  Let  old  age  be  wise  and  cool,  I 
am  young  and  warm.  For  a  little 
while  I  will  play  the  fool,  and  forget 
my  miserable  dignity." 

Frederick  called  his  servant,  and  sent 
for  General  Rothenberg,  then  took  his 
flute  and  began  to  play  softly.  When 
the  general  entered,  the  king  nodded 
to  him,  but  quietly  finished  his  adagio ; 
then  laid  the  flute  aside,  and  gave  his 
hand  to  his  friend. 

"  You  must  be  Pylades,  my  friend, 
and  banish  the  despondency  which  op- 
presses the  heart  and  head  of  thy  poor 
Orestes." 

"  I  will  be  all  that  your  majesty  al- 
lows or  commands  me  to  be,"  said  the 
general,  laughing ;  "  but  I  think  the 
queen-mother  would  be  little  pleased 
to  hear  yoiu-  majesty  compare  yourself 
to  Orestes." 


"Ah,  you  allude  to  Clytemnestra's 
faithless  love-story,  with  which,  truly, 
my  exalted  and  virtuous  mother  can- 
not be  associated.  Well,  my  compari- 
son is  a  little  lame,  but  my  despondency 
is  real — deeply  seated  as  my  friendship 
for  you." 

"  How  !  your  majesty  is  melancholy  ? 
I  understand  this  mood  of  my  king," 
said  Rothenberg,  "  It  only  takes  pos- 
session of  you  the  day  before  some 
great  deed,  and  only  then  because  the 
night  before  the  day  of  triumph  seems 
too  long.  Your  majesty  confesses  that 
you  are  sad.  I  conclude,  therefore, 
that  we  will  soon  have  war,  and  soon 
rejoice  in  the  victories  of  our  king." 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,"  said  the 
king,  smiling.  "  I  do  not  love  war,  but 
it  is  sometimes  a  necessary  evil ;  and  if 
I  cannot  relieve  my  godmother,  Maria 
Theresa,  of  this  mortal  malady  of  pride 
and  superciliousness  without  a  t  e:e  al 
blood-letting,  I  must  even  play  the 
physician  and  open  a  ven.  The  alli- 
ance with  France  is  concluded;  Charles 
the  Seventh  goes  to  Frankfort  for  cor- 
onation; the  French  ambassador  ac- 
companies him,  and  my  army  stands 
ready  for  battle,  ready  to  protect  the 
emperor  against  Austria.  We  will  soon 
have  war,  friend,  and  I  hope  we  will 
soon  have  a  victory  to  celebrate.  In  a 
few  weeks  we  will  advance.  Oh 
Rothenberg !  when  I  speak  of  battle,  I 
feel  that  I  am  young,  that  my  heart  is 
not  of  stone — ^it  bounds  and  beats  as  if 
it  would  break  down  its  piison  walls, 
and  found  a  new  home  of  glory  and  of 
fame." 

"  The  heart  of  my  king  will  be  ever 
young;  it  is  full  of  trust  and  kindli- 
ness." 

Frederick  shook  his  head  thought- 
fully. "Do  not  believe  that,  Rothen- 
berg; the  hands  that  labor  become 
hard  and  callous,  and  so  is  it  with  the 
heart.  Mine  has  labored  and  suflFered  ; 
it  will  turn  at  last  to  stone.    Then  1 


S4 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


shall  be  condemned.  The  world  will 
forget  that  it  is  responsible ;  they  will 
speak  only  of  my  hard  heart,  and  say 
nothing  of  the  anguish  and  the  decep- 
tions which  have  turned  me  to  stone. 
But  what  of  that?  Let  these  foolish 
two-legged  creatures,  who  proudly 
claim  that  they  are  made  in  the  image 
of  God,  say  what  they  please  of  me; 
they  cannot  deprive  me  of  my  fame  and 
my  immortality.  He  Avho  possesses  that 
has  received  his  reward,  and  dare  utter 
no  complaint.  Truly  Erostratus  and 
Schinderhannes  are  celebrated,  and 
Eulenspiegle  is  better  known  and  be- 
loved by  the  people  than  Socrates." 

"This  proves  that  Wisdom  herself 
must  take  the  trouble  to  make  herself 
popular,"  said  Rothenberg.  "True 
fame  is  only  obtained  by  popularity. 
Alexander  the  Great  and  Caesar  were 
popular,  and  their  names  were  there- 
fore in  the  mouths  of  the  people.  This 
was  their  inheritance,  handed  down 
from  generation  to  generation,  from  fa- 
ther to  son.  So  will  it  be  with  King 
Frederick  the  Second.  He  is  not  only 
the  king  and  the  hero,  but  he  is  the 
man  of  the  people.  His  fame  will  not 
be  written  alone  on  the  tablets  of  histo- 
ry by  the  Muses ;  the  people  will  write 
it  on  the  pure,  white,  vacant  leaves  of 
their  Bibles;  the  children  and  grand- 
children will  read  it;  and,  centuries 
hence,  the  curious  searchers  into  histo- 
ry will  consider  this  as  fame,  and  exalt 
the  name  of  Frederick  the  Great." 

"  God  grant  it  may  be  so  !  "  said  the 
king,  solemnly.  "  You  know  that  I  am 
ambitious.  I  believe  that  this  passion 
is  the  most  enduring,  and  that  its  burn- 
ing thirst  is  never  quenched.  As 
crown  prince,  I  was  ever  humiliated  by 
the  thought  that  the  love,  considera- 
tion, and  respect  shown  to  me  was  no 
tribute  to  my  worth,  but  was  offered  to 
a  prince,  the  eon  of  a  powerful  king. 
With  what  admiration,  with  what  en- 
thusiasm  did  I  look  at  Voltaire  1  he 


needed  no  high  birth,  no  title,  to  be 
considered,  honored,  and  envied  by  the 
whole  world.  I,  however,  must  have 
rank,  title,  princely  revenues,  and  a 
royal  genealogical  tree,  in  order  to  fix 
the  eyes  of  men  upon  me.  Ah,  how 
often  did  I  remind  myself  of  the  his- 
tory of  that  great  prince,  who,  surround- 
ed by  his  enemies,  and  about  to  sur- 
render, saw  his  servants  and  friends 
despairing  and  weeping  around  him  I 
He  smiled  upon  them,  and  uttered 
these  few  but  expressive  words :  *  I 
feel  by  your  tears  that  I  am  still  a 
king.'  I  swore  then  to  be  like  that 
noble  man,  to  owe  my  fame,  not  to  my 
royal  mantle,  but  to  myself.  I  have 
fulfilled  but  a  small  portion  of  my  oath. 
I  hope  that  my  godmother,  Maria 
Theresa,  and  the  Russian  empress,  will 
soon  afford  me  more  enlarged  oppor- 
tunities. Our  enemies  are  indeed  our 
best  friends;  they  enrage  and  inspire 
us." 

"  In  so  saying,  sire,  you  condemn  U8 
all,  we  who  are  the  most  faithful,  sub- 
missive, and  enthusiastic  friends  of 
your  highness." 

"  You  are  also  useful  to  me,"  said  the 
king.  "  You,  for  example ;  your  cheer- 
ful, loving  face  does  me  good  when- 
ever I  look  upon  it.  You  keep  my 
heart  young  and  fresh,  and  teach  me  to 
laugh,  which  pleasant  art  I  am  con- 
stantly forgetting  in  the  midst  of  these 
wearisome  and  hypocritical  men.  I 
never  laugh  so  merrily  as  when  I  am 
with  you  at  your  table,  where  I  have 
the  high  privilege  of  laying  aside  my 
royalty,  and  being  a  simple,  happy  man 
like  yourself.  I  rejoice  in  the  prospect 
of  this  evening,  and  I  am  impatient  as 
a  young  maiden  before  her  first  ball. 
This  evening,  if  I  remember  correctly, 
I  am  invited  by  General  von  Rothenberg 
to  a  petit  smiper.''^ 

"  Your  majesty  was  kind  enough  to 
promise  me  that  you  would  come." 

"Do  you  know,  Rothenberg,  I  reallv 


FREDERICK   TEE   GREAT   AND    HIS  FRIEXDS. 


85 


o(ilieve  that  the  erpectation  of  this  fete 
nas  made  the  hours  of  the  day  so  long 
and  -wearisome.  Now,  tell  me,  who 
are  we  to  have  ?  who  takes  part  in  our 
gayety  ? " 

"  Those  who  were  selected  by  your 
majesty :  Chazot  and  Algarotti,  Jordan 
and  Bielfeld." 

"Did  I  select  the  company?"  said 
the  king,  thoughtfully ;  "  then  I  won- 
ler  that — "  He  stopped,  and,  looking 
down,  turned  away  silently. 

''  What  causes  your  majesty's  won- 
der ?  "  said  the  general. 

"  I  am  sui-prised  that  I  did  not  ask 
you  to  give  us  Rhine  wine  this  even- 
ing," said  the  king,  with  a  sly 
smile. 

''  Rhine  wine !  why,  your  majesty 
has  often  told  me  that  it  was  a  slow 
poison,  and  produced  death," 

"  Yes,  that  is  true,  but  what  will  you 
Lave  ?  There  are  many  things  in  this 
incomprehensible  world  which  are  poi- 
sonous, and  which,  for  that  reason,  are 
the  more  alluring.  This  is  peculiarly 
so  with  women.  He  does  well  who 
avoids  them ;  they  bewilder  our  reason 
and  make  our  hearts  sick,  but  we  do 
not  flee  from  them.  We  pursue  them, 
and  the  poison  which  they  infuse  in 
our  veins  is  sweet;  we  quaff  it  raptur- 
ously, though  death  is  in  the  cup." 

"In  this,  however,  your  majesty  is 
wiser  than  all  other  men :  you  alone 
have  the  power  to  turn  away  from  or 
"withstand  them." 

"  Who  knows  ?  perhaps  that  is 
sheer  cowardice,"  said  the  king ;  he 
turned  away  confused,  and  beat  his 
fingers  upon  the  window  -  glass.  "I 
called  the  Rhine  wine  poison,  because 
of  its  strength.  I  think  now  that  it 
alone  deserves  to  be  called  wine  —  it 
J  the  only  wine  which  has  bloom." 
Frederick  was  again  silent,  and  beat  a 
aiarch  upon  the  window. 

The  general  looked  at  him  anxiously 
and  thoughtfully ;  suddenly  his  counte- 


nance cleared,  and  a  half-suppressed 
smile  played  upon  his  lips. 

"  I  will  allow  myself  to  add  a  con- 
clusive word  to  those  of  my  king,  that 
is,  a  moral  to  his  fable.  Your  majesty 
says  Rhine  wine  is  the  only  wine  which 
deserves  the  name,  because  it  alone  has 
bloom.  So  I  will  call  that  society  only 
society  which  is  graced  and  adorned  by 
women.  Women  are  the  bloom  of  so- 
ciety. Do  you  not  agree  with  me, 
sire  ? " 

"If  I  agree  to  that  proposition,  it 
amounts  to  a  request  that  you  will  in- 
vite women  to  our  fete  this  evening — 
will  it  not  ? "  said  the  king,  still  thrum- 
ming on  the  window. 

"And  with  what  rapture  would  I 
fulfil  your  wish,  but  I  fear  it  would  be 
difficult  to  induce  the  ladies  to  come  to 
the  house  of  a  young  bachelor  as  I  am  ! " 

"  Ah,  bah  I  I  have  determined  dur- 
ing the  next  winter  to  give  these  little 
suppers  very  often.  I  will  have  a  pri- 
vate table,  and  women  shall  be  present." 

"  Yes,  but  your  majesty  is  married." 

"They  would  come  if  I  were  a 
bachelor.  The  Countess  Carnas,  Frau 
von  Brantd,  the  Kleist,  and  the  Morien, 
are  too  witty  and  too  intellectual  1^  be 
restrained  by  narrow  -  minded  preju- 
dice." 

"Does  your  majesty  wish  that  1 
should  invite  these  ladies  ? "  said  the 
general;  "they  will  come,  without 
doubt,  if  your  majesty  commands  it. 
Shall  I  invite  them  ?  " 

The  king  hesitated  a  moment  to  re- 
ply. "Perhaps  they  would  not  come 
willingly,"  said  he ;  "  you  are  unmar- 
ried, and  they  might  be  afraid  of  their 
husbands'  anger." 

"I  must,  then,  invite  ladies  who  are 
not  married,"  said  RothenI)erg,  whose 
face  was  now  radiant  with  delight; 
"but  I  do  not  know  one  unmarried 
lady  of  the  higher  circles  who  carries 
her  freedom  from  prejudice  so  far  as 
to  dare  attend  a  bachelor's  supper." 


so 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


"  Must  we  always  confine  our  invita- 
tions to  the  higher  circles?"  said  tlie 
king,  beating  his  parade  march  still 
more  violently  upon  the  window. 

Rothcnberg  watched  him  with  the 
eye  of  a  sportsman,  who  sees  the  wild 
deer  brought  to  bay. 

"  If  your  majesty  will  condescend  to 
set  etiquette  aside,  I  wUl  make  a  propo- 
sition." 

"  Etiquette  is  nonsense  and  folly,  and 
shall  not  do  the  honors  by  our  petits 
soupers:  pleasure  only  presides." 

"  Then  I  propose  that  we  invite  some 
of  the  ladies  from  the  theatre — is  your 
majesty  content  ? " 

"Fully  !  but  which  of  the  ladies?  " 
said  the  king. 

"  That  is  your  majesty's  affair,"  said 
Rothcnberg,  smiling.  "  You  have  se- 
lected the  gentlemen,  will  it  please  you 
to  name  the  ladies  ? " 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  king,  hesita- 
ting, "  what  say  you  to  Cochois,  Astrea, 
and  the  little  Petrea." 

"Sire,  they  will  be  all  most  wel- 
come ;  but  I  pray  you  to  allow  me  to 
add  one  name  to  your  list,  the  name  of 
a  woman  who  is  more  lovely,  more 
gracious,  more  intellectual,  more  allur- 
ing, than  all  the  prima  donnas  of  the 
world;  who  has  the  power  to  intoxi- 
cate all  men  not  excepting  emperors 
and  kings,  and  make  them  her  willing 
slaves.  Dare  I  name  her,  sire  ?  " 
"  Certainly." 

"  The  Signora  Barbarina." 
The    king  turned  his  head  hastilj', 
and  his  buniing  eyes  rested  question- 
ingly  upon  the  face  of  Rothcnberg,  who 
met  his  glance  with  a  merry  look. 

Frederick  was  silent;  and  the  gen- 
eral, making  a  profound  bow,  said 
solemnly  :  "  I  pray  your  majesty  to  al- 
low me  to  invite  Mesdames  Cochois, 
Astrea,  and  Petrea,  also  the  Signcxa 
Barbaiina,  to  our  petit  soupery 

"  Four  prima  donnas  at  once ! "  said 
the  king,  laughing;  "that  would  be 


dangerous;  we  would,  perhaps,  have 
the  interesting  si^ectacle  of  seeing  them 
tear  out  each  other's  eyes.  No,  no !  to 
enjoy  the  glories  of  the  sun,  there  must 
be  no  rival  suns  in  the  horizon ;  we  will 
invite  but  one  enchantress,  and  as  you 
are  the  host,  you  have  the  undoubted 
right  to  select  her.  Let  it  be  then  the 
Signora  Barbarina."  * 

"  Your  majesty  graciously  permits  me 
to  invite  the  Signora  Barbarina  ?  "  said 
Rothcnberg,  looking  the  king  steadily 
in  the  face ;  a  rich  blush  suffused  the 
cheeks  of  Fredenck.  Suddenly  he 
laughed  aloud,  and  laying  his  arm 
around  the  neck  of  his  friend,  he 
looked  in  his  radiant  face  with  an  ex- 
pression of  confidence  and  love. 

"  You  are  a  provoking  scamp,"  said 
Frederick.  "  You  understood  me 
from  the  beginning,  and  left  me  hang- 
ing like  Absalom  upon  the  tree.  That 
was  cruel,  Rothcnberg." 

"  Cruel,  but  well  deserved,  sire. 
Why  would  you  not  make  known  your 
wishes  clearly?  Why  leave  me  to 
guess  them  ? " 

"  Why  ?  My  God  !  it  is  sometimes 
so  agreeable  and  convenient  to  have 
your  wishes  guessed.  The  murder  is 
out.  You  will  invite  the  beautiful 
Barbarina.  You  can  also  invite  an- 
other gentleman,  an  artist,  in  order 
that  the  lovely  Italian  may  not  feel  so 
lonely  amongst  us  barbarians." 

"What  artist,  sire?" 

"  The  jjainter  Pesne ;  go  yourself  to 
invite  him.  It  might  be  well  for  him 
to  bring  paper  and  pencil — he  will  as- 
suredly have  an  irresistible  desire  to 
make  a  sketch  of  this  beautiful 
nymph." 

"  Command  him  to  do  so,  sire,  and 
then  to  make  a  life-size  picture  from  the 
sketch." 

"  Ah  !  so  you  wish  a  portrait  from  the 
Barbarina?" 

*  KodeDbeck:  "Journal  ot  Frederick  the  Grea» 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


97 


"Yes,  aire;  but  not  for  myself." 

*'  For  whom,  then  ?  " 

"  To  have  the  pleasure  of  presenting 
t  to  my  king," 

"And  why?" 

"  Because  I  am  vain  enough  to  be- 
lieve that,  as  my  present,  the  picture 
would  have  some  value  in  your  eyes," 
said  Rothenberg,  mockingly.  "  What 
cares  my  king  for  a  portrait  of  the 
Barbarina  ?  Nothing,  sans  doute.  But 
when  this  picture  is  not  only  painted 
by  the  great  Pesne,  but  is  also  the  gift 
of  a  dear,  faithful  friend,  I  wager  it 
will  be  highly  appreciated  by  your 
majesty,  and  you  will  perhaps  be 
gracious  enough  to  hang  it  in  your 
room." 

"You!  you!"  said  the  king,  point- 
ing his  finger  threateningly  at  Rothen- 
berg, "  I  am  afraid  of  you.  I  believe 
you  listen  to  and  comprehend  my  most 
secret  thoughts,  and  form  your  petition 
according  to  my  wishes.  I  will,  like 
a  good-natured,  easy  fool,  grant  this 
request.  Go  and  invite  the  Barbarina 
and  the  painter  Pesne,  and  commission 
him  to  paint  a  life-size  picture  of  the 
fair  one.*  Pesne  must  make  several 
sketches,  and  I  will  choose  from 
amongst  them." 

'*  I  thank  your  majesty,"  cried  the 
general ;  "  and  now  have  the  goodness 
to  dismiss  me — I  must  make  my  prepa- 
rations." 

As  Rothenberg  .  stood  upon  the 
threshold,  the  king  called  him.  "  You 
have  guessed  my  thoughts,  and  now  I 
will  prove  to  you  that  I  read  yours. 
You  think  I  am  in  love." 

"  In  love  ?  What !  I  dare  to  think 
that  ? "  said  the  general ;  and  folding 
his  hands  he  raised  his  eyes  aa  if  in 
prayer.  "  Shall  I  dare  to  have  such  an 
unholy  thought  in  connection  with  my 
anointed  king  ? " 


The  king  laughed  heartily.  "As  to 
my  sanctity,  I  think  the  holy  Antoniua 
will  not  proclaim  me  as  his  brother. 
But  I  am  not  exactly  in  love."  He 
stepped  to  tlie  window,  upon  the  sill 
of  which  a  Japanese  rose  stood  in  rich 
bloom  ;  he  plucked  one  of  the  lovely 
flowers,  and  handing  it  to  the  general, 
he  said :  "  Look,  now !  is  it  not  en- 
chantingly  beautiful  ?  Think  you,  that 
because  I  am  a  king,  I  have  no  heart, 
no  thirst  for  beauty  ?  Go  !  but  remem- 
ber that,  though  a  king,  I  have  the  eyes 
and  the  passions  of  other  men.  I,  too, 
am  intoxicated  by  the  perfume  of  flow- 
ers and  the  beauty  of  women." 


•  This  splendid  picture  of  Barbarina  liung  for  a 
Ma4  time  in  the  king's  ca  inet,  and  is  still  to  be 
leen  in  tiie  Uoyal  Palace  at  Berlin. 


CHAPTER  VL 

THE    FIRST   KENDEZVOtfS. 

The  night  was  dark  and  still ;  so 
dark  in  the  garden  of  Mou bijou,  that 
the  keenest  eye  could  not  detect  the 
forms  of  the  two  men  who  slipped 
stealthily  among  the  trees ;  so  still,  that 
the  slightest  contact  of  their  clothing 
with  the  motionless  leaves,  and  the 
slightest  footstep  in  the  sand  could  be 
heard.  But,  happily,  there  was  n<me 
to  listen ;  unchallenged  and  uuseen,  the 
two  muflied  figures  entered  the  avenue, 
at  the  end  of  which  stood  the  little 
palace,  the  summer  residence  of  the 
queen-mother.  Here  they  rested  for  a 
moment,  and  cast  a  searching  glance 
at  the  building,  which  stood  also  dark 
and  silent  before  them. 

"No  light  in  the  windows  of  the 
queen-mother,"  whispered  one  ;  "  all 
asleep." 

"  Yes,  all  asleep,  we  have  nothing  to 
fear;  let  us  go  onward."  The  last 
speaker  made  a  few  hasty  steps  for- 
ward, but  his  companion  seized  him 
hastily  by  the  arm,  and  held  him  back. 

"You  forget,   my  young    Hotspur 


68 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI ;     OR, 


that  we  must  wait  for  the  signal.  Still ! 
still  1  do  not  stamp  so  impatiently  with, 
your  feet ;  you  need  not  shake  yourself 
like  a  young  lion.  He  who  goes  upon 
such  adventures  must,  above  all  things, 
be  self-possessed,  cautious,  and  cool. 
Believe  me,  I  have  had  a  long  range  of 
experience,  and  in  this  species  of  love 
adventure  I  think  I  might  possibly 
rival  the  famous  King  Charles  the 
Second,  of  England." 

"But  here  there  is  no  question  of 
love  adventure,  Baron  Pollnitz,"  said 
his  companion  impatiently,  almost 
fiercely. 

"Not  of  love  adventure,  Baron 
Trenck  !  well,  may  I  dare  to  ask  what 
is  the  question  ? " 

"  A  true — an  eternal  love ! " 

"  Ah !  a  true,  an  eternal  love,"  re- 
peated Pollnitz,  with  a  dry,  mocking 
laugh.  "All  honor  to  this  true  love, 
which,  with  all  the  reasons  for  its  jus- 
tification, and  all  the  pathos  of  its 
heavenly  source,  glides  stealthily  to  the 
royal  palace,  and  hides  itself  under  the 
shadow  of  the  silent  night.  My  good 
yomig  sentimentalist,  remember  I  am 
not  a  novice  like  yourself;  I  am  an  old 
fogy,  and  call  things  by  their  right 
names.  Every  passion  is  a  true  and 
eternal  love,  and  every  loved  one  is  an 
angel  of  virtue,  beauty,  and  purity, 
until  we  weary  of  the  adventure,  and 
seek  a  new  distraction,"   ^„_ 

"You  are  a  hopeless  infidel,"  said 
Trenck,  angrily;  "truly  he  who  has 
changed  his  faith  as  often  as  you  have, 
has  no  religion — not  even  the  religion 
of  love.  But  look !  a  light  is  shown, 
and  the  window  is  opened  ;  that  is  the 
signal." 

"  You  are  right,  that  is  the  signal. 
Let  us  go,"  whispered  Pollnitz ;  and  he 
stepped  hastily  after  the  young  officer. 

And  now  they  stood  before  the  win- 
dow on  the  ground  floor,  where  the 
light  had  been  seen  for  a  moment. 
The  window  was  half  open. 


"  "We  have  arrived,"  said  Trenck 
breathing  heavily;  "now,  dear  Poll- 
nitz, farewell ;  it  cannot  certainly  be 
your  intention  to  go  farther.  The  prin- 
cess commissioned  you  to  accompany 
me  to  the  castle,  but  she  did  not  intend 
you  should  enter  with  me.  You  must 
understand  this.  You  boast  that  you 
are  rich  in  experience,  and  will  there- 
fore readily  comprehend  that  the  pies- 
ence  of  a  third  party  is  abhorrent  to 
lovers.  I  know  that  you  are  too  ami- 
able to  make  your  friends  wretched 
Farewell,  Baron  Pollnitz." 

Trenck  was  in  the  act  of  springing  into 
the  window,  but  the  strong  arm  of  the 
master  of  ceremonies  held  him  back. 

"Let  me  enter  first,"  said  he,  "and 
give  me  a  little  assistance.  Your  so- 
phistical exposition  of  the  words  of  our 
princess  is  entirely  thrown  away.  She 
said  to  me,  'At  eleven  o'clock  I  will 
expect  you  and  the  Baron  von  Trenck 
in  my  room.'  That  is  certainly  explicit 
— as  it  appears  to  me,  and  needs  no  ex- 
planation.    Lend  me  your  arm." 

With  a  heavy  sigh,  Trenck  gave  the 
required  assistance,  and  then  sprang 
lightly  into  the  room. 

"Give  me  your  hand  and  follow 
cautiously,"  said  Pollnitz.  "I  know 
every  step  of  the  way,  and  can  guard 
you  against  all  possible  accidents.  I 
have  tried  this  path  often  in  former 
years,  jDarticularly  when  Peter  the 
Great  and  his  wife,  with  twenty  ladies 
of  her  suite,  occupied  this  wing  of  the 
castle." 

"  Hush  ! "  said  Trenck  ;  "  we  have 
reached  the  top — onward,  silently." 

"Give  me  your  hand,  I  will  lead 
you." 

Carefully,  silently,  and  on  tip-toe,  they 
passed  through  the  dark  corridor,  and 
reached  the  door,  through  which  a 
light  shimmered.  They  tapped  lightlv 
upon  the  door,  which  was  immediately 
opened.  The  confidential  chamber- 
maid of  the  princess  came  forward   t« 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  ERIEXDS. 


69 


Ac.vt  them,  and  nodded  to  them  silently 
to  follow  her;  they  passed  through 
several  rooms ;  at  last  she  paused,  and 
said,  earnestly :  "  This  is  the  boudoir 
of  the  princess;  enter — ^you  are  ex- 
pected." 

With  a  hasty  movement,  Trenck 
opened  the  door — this  door  which  sep- 
arated him  from  his  first  love,  his  only 
hope  of  happiness.  He  entered  that 
dimly-Ughted  room,  toward  which  his 
weary,  longing  eyes  had  been  often 
turned  almost  hopelessly.  His  heart 
beat  stormily,  his  breathing  was  irreg- 
ular, he  thought  he  might  die  of  rap- 
ture ;  he  feared  that  in  the  wild  agitation 
of  the  moment  he  might  utter  a  cry,  in- 
dicative as  much  of  sufifering  as  of  joy. 

There,  upon  the  divan,  sat  the  Prin- 
cess Amelia.  The  hanging  lamp  lighted 
her  face,  which  was  fair  and  colorless. 
She  tried  to  rise  and  advance  to  meet 
him,  but  she  had  no  power;  she  ex- 
tended both  her  hands,  and  murmured 
a  few  unintelligible  words. 

Frederick  v(m  Trenck's  heart  read 
her  meaning ;  he  rushed  forward  and 
covered  her  hands  with  his  kisses  and 
his  tears ;  he  fell  upon  his  knees,  and 
murmured  words  of  rapture,  of  glow- 
ing thanks,  of  blessed  joy  —  words 
which  filled  the  trembling  heart  of 
Amelia  with  delight. 

All  this  fell  upon  the  cold  but  listen- 
ing ear  of  the  master  of  ceremonies,  and 
seemed  to  him  as  sounding  brass  and 
the  tinkling  cymbal.  He  had  discreet- 
ly and  modestly  withdrawn  to  the  back 
part  of  the  room ;  but  he  looked  on  like 
a  worldling,  with  a  mocking  smile  at 
the  rapture  of  the  two  lovers.  He  soon 
found,  however,  that  the  role  which  he 
was  condemned  to  play  had  its  ridicu- 
lous and  humiliating  aspect,  and  he  re- 
solved to  bear  it  no  longer.  He  came 
forward,  and  with  his  usual  cool  imperti- 
nence he  approached  the  princess,  who 
greeted  him  with  a  crimson  blush  and 
a  silent  bow. 


"Pardon  me,  your  royal  highness,  if 
I  dare  to  ask  you  to  decide  a  question 
which  has  arisen  between  my  friend 
Trenck  and  myself.  He  did  not  wish 
to  allow  me  to  accompany  him  farther 
than  the  castle  window.  I  declare  that 
I  was  authorized  by  your  royal  high- 
ness to  enter  with  him  this  holiest  of 
holies.  Perhaps,  however,  I  was  in 
error,  and  have  carried  my  zeal  in  your 
service  too  far.  I  pray  you,  therefore, 
to  decide.     Shall  I  go  or  stay  ?  " 

The  princess  had  by  this  time  entire- 
ly recovered  her  composure.  "  Remain," 
said  she,  with  a  ravishing  smile,  and 
giving  her  hand  to  the  baron.  "Yoa 
were  our  confidant  from  the  beginning, 
and  I  desire  you  to  be  wholly  so.  I 
wish  you  to  be  fully  convinced  that  our 
love,  though  compelled  for  a  while  to 
seek  darkness  and  obscurity,  need  not 
shun  the  eye  of  a  friend.  And  who 
knows  if  we  may  not  one  day  need 
your  testimony  ?  I  do  not  deceive  my- 
self. I  know  that  this  night  my  good 
and  evil  genius  are  struggling  over 
my  future — that  misfortune  and  shame 
have  already  perhaps  stretched  their 
wings  over  my  head;  but  I  will  not 
yield  to  them  without  a  struggle.  It 
may  be  that  one  day  I  shall  require 
your  aid.     Remain,  therefore." 

Pollnitz  bowed  silently.  The  prin- 
cess fixed  her  glance  upon  her  lover, 
who,  with  a  clouded  brow  and  sad 
mien,  stood  near.  She  understood  him, 
and  a  smile  played  upon  her  full,  red 
lip. 

"Remain,  Von  Pollnitz,  but  allow  us 
to  step  for  a  moment  upon  the  balcony. 
It  is  a  wondrous  night.  What  we  two 
have  to  say  to  each  other,  only  heaven, 
with  its  shining  stars,  dare  hear ;  I  be- 
lieve they  only  can  understand  our 
speech." 

"  I  thank  you !  oh,  I  thank  you ! " 
whispered  Trenck,  pressing  the  hand  of 
Amelia  to  his  lips. 

"Your    royal    highness,    then,  gra- 


90 


BERLIN   AND   SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


ciously  allowed  rae  to  come  bere,"  said 
Pollnitz,  with  a  complaining  voice,  "  in 
order  to  give  me  up  entirely  to  my 
own  thoughts,  and  force  me  to  play  the 
part  of  a  Trappist.  I  shall,  if  I  under- 
stand rightly  my  privileges,  like  the 
lion  in  the  fairy  tale,  guard  the  door 
of  that  paradise  in  which  my  young 
friend  revels  in  his  first  sunny  dream 
of  bliss.  Your  royal  highness  must 
confess  that  this  is  cruel  work ;  but  I 
am  ready  to  untertake  it,  and  place 
myself,  like  the  angel  with  the  flaming 
sword,  before  the  door,  ready  to  slay 
any  serpent  who  daros  undertake  to  en- 
ter this  elysium." 

The  princess  pointed  to  a  table  ujjon 
which  game,  fruit,  and  Spanish  wine 
had  been  placed.  "  You  will  find  there 
distraction  and  perhaps  consolation, 
and  I  hope  you  will  avail  yourself  of 
it.  Farewell,  baron ;  we  place  our- 
selves under  your  protection ;  guard 
us  well."  She  opened  the  door  and 
stepped  with  her  lover  upon  the  bal- 
cony. 

Pollnitz  looked  after  them  contempt- 
uously. "  Poor  child  !  she  is  afraid  of 
herself;  she  requires  a  duenna^  and  that 
she  should  have  chosen  exactly  me  for 
that  purpose  was  a  wonderful  idea. 
Alas  1  my  case  is  indeed  pitiful;  I  am 
selected  to  play  the  part  of  a  duenna. 
No  one  remembei's  that  I  have  ears  to 
hear  and  teeth  to  bite.  I  am  supposed 
to  see,  nothing  more.  But  what  shall 
I  sec,  what  can  I  see  in  this  dark  night, 
which  the  god  of  love  has  so  clouded 
over  in  compassion  to  thts  innocent 
and  tender  i^air  of  doves?  This  was  a 
rich,  a  truly  romantic  and  girlish  idea, 
to  grant  her  lover  a  rendezvous,  it  is 
true,  under  God's  free  heavei\,  but  upon 
a  balcony  of  three  feet  in  length,  with 
no  seat  to  repose  upon  after  the  pow- 
erful emotions  of  a  burning  declaration 
of  love.  Well,  for  my  part  I  find  it 
more  comfortal:)le  to  rest  upon  this  di- 
van and  enjoy  my  evening  meal,  while 


these  two  dreameis  commune  with  the 
night-birds  and  the  stars." 

He  threw  himself  upon  the  seat, 
seized  his  knife  and  fork,  and  indulged 
himself  in  the  grouse  and  truffles  which 
had  been  prepared  for  him 


CHAPTER  Vir. 

ON     THE    BALCONY. 

WixnouT,  upon  the  balcony,  stood 
the  two  lovers.  "With  their  arms 
clasped  around  each  other,  they  gazed 
up  at  the  dark  heavens — too  deeply 
moved  for  utterance.  They  spoke  to 
each  other  in  the  exalted  language  of 
lovers  (understood  only  by  the  angels), 
whose  words  are  blushes,  sighs,  glances, 
and  tender  pressures  of  the  hand. 

In  the  beginning  this  was  their  only 
language.  Both  shrank  from  inter- 
rupting this  sweet  communion  of  soula 
by  earthly  material  speech.  Suddenly 
their  glances  fell  from  heaven  earth- 
ward. They  sought  another  heaven, 
and  other  and  dearer  stars.  Their 
eyes,  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  met ; 
their  blushes  and  their  happy  smiles, 
though  not  seen,  were  understood  and 
felt,  and  at  the  same  moment  they  softly 
called  each  other's  names. 

This  was  their  first  language,  soon 
succeeded  by  passionate  and  glowing 
protestations  on  his  part ;  by  blushing, 
trembling  confessions  on  hers.  They 
spoke  and  looked  like  all  the  millions 
of  lovers  who  have  found  themselves 
alone  in  this  old  world  of  ours.  The 
same  old  story,  yet  ever  new. 

The  conduct,  hopes,  and  fears  of 
these  young  lovers  could  not  be  judged 
by  common  rules.  Theirs  was  a  love 
which  could  not  hope  for  happiness  or 
continuance;  for  which  there  was  no 
perfumed  oasis,  no  blooming  myrtle- 
wreath  to  crown  its  dark  and  storms 


FREDERICK   THE  GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


91 


path.  They  might  be  sure,  that  the 
farther  they  advanced,  the  more  track- 
less and  arid  would  be  the  desert  open- 
ing before  them.  Tears  and  robes  of 
mourning  would  constitute  their  festal 
adorning. 

'•  Why  has  Destiny  placed  you  so 
high  above  me  that  I  cannot  hope  to 
reach  you  ?  can  never  climb  the  ladder 
which  leads  to  heaven  and  to  happi- 
ness ?  "  said  Trenck,  as  he  knelt  before 
the  princess. 

She  played  thoughtfully  with  his 
long  dark  hair,  and  a  burning  tear 
rolled  slowly  over  her  cheek  and  fell 
upon  his  brow.  That  was  her  only  an- 
swer. 

Trenck  shuddered.  He  dashed  the 
tear  from  his  face  with  trembling  hor- 
ror. "  Oh,  Amelia  !  you  w^eep ;  you 
have  no  word  of  consolation,  of  encour- 
agement, of  hope  for  me  ?  " 

"No  word,  my  friend;  I  have  no 
hope,  no  consolation.  I  know  that  a 
dark  and  stormy  future  awaits  us.  I 
know  that  this  cloudy  night,  under 
whose  shadow  we  for  the  first  time  join 
our  hands,  will  endure  forever ;  that 
for  us  the  sun  will  never  shine.  I  know 
that  the  moment  our  glances  first  met, 
my  protecting  angel  veiled  her  face, 
and,  weeping,  left  me.  I  know  that  it 
would  have  been  wiser  and  better  to 
give  your  heart,  with  its  treasures,  to  a 
poor  beggar-girl  on  the  street,  than  to 
consecrate  it  to  the  sister  of  a  king — to 
the  poor  Prmcess  Amelia." 

"  Stop,  stop  ! "  cried  Trenck,  still  on 
his  knees,  and  bowing  his  head  almost 
to  the  earth.  "  Your  words  pierce  my 
heart  like  poisoned  daggers,  and  yet  I 
feel  that  they  are  truth  itself.  Yes,  I 
was  indeed  a  bold  traitor,  in  that  I 
dared  to  raise  ray  eyes  to  you  ;  I  was  a 
blasjihemer,  in  that  I,  the  unconsecra- 
ted,  forced  myself  into  the  holy  temple 
of  your  heart ;  upon  its  altar  the  vestal 
flame  of  your  pure  and  innocent 
thoughts  burned  clearly,  imtil  my  hot 


and  stormy  sighs  brought  unrest  and 
wild  disorder.  But  I  repent.  There 
is  yet  time.  You  are  bound  to  me  by 
no  vow,  no  solemn  oath.  Oh,  Amelia  ! 
lay  this  scarcely-opened  flower  of  our 
first  young  love  by  the  withered  violet- 
vrreaths  of  your  childhood,  with  which 
even  now  you  sometimes  play  and  smile 
upon  in  quiet  and  peaceful  hours;  to 
which  you  whisper :  '  You  were  once 
beautiful  and  fragrant ;  you  made  me 
happy — but  that  is  past.'  Oh,  Amelia ! 
yet  is  there  time;  give  me  up;  spurn 
me  from  you.  Call  your  servants  and 
point  me  out  to  them  as  a  madman, 
who  has  dared  to  glide  into  your  room ; 
whose  passion  has  made  him  blind  and 
wild.  Give  me  over  to  justice  and  to 
the  scaffold.  Only  save  yourself  from 
my  love,  which  is  so  cowardly,  so 
egotistic,  so  hard-hearted;  it  has  no 
strength  in  itself  to  choose  banishment 
or  death.  Oh,  Amelia !  cast  me  away 
from  your  presence ;  trample  me  under 
your  feet.  I  will  die  without  one  re- 
proach, without  one  complaint.  I  will 
think  that  my  death  was  necessary  to 
save  you  from  shame,  from  the  torture 
of  a  long  and  dreary  existence.  All 
this  is  still  in  your  power.  I  have  no 
claim  upon  you ;  you  are  not  mine;  you 
have  listened  to  my  oaths,  but  you  have 
not  replied  to  them ;  you  are  free. 
Spurn  me,  then,  you  are  bound  by  no 
vow." 

Amelia  raised  her  arm  slowly  and 
solemnly  toward  heaven.  "  I  love  you  I 
May  God  hear  me  and  accept  my  oath  ! 
I  love  you,  and  I  swear  to  be  yours ;  to 
be  true  and  faithful ;  never  to  wed  any 
other  man ! " 

"  Oh,  most  unhappy  woman !  oh, 
greatly  to  be  pitied ! "  cried  Trenck. 
Throwing  his  arms  around  her  neck  he 
laid  his  head  upon  her  bosom.  "  Ame- 
lia, Amelia  !  these  are  not  tears  of  rap- 
ture, of  bliss.  1  weep  from  wretched 
ness,  from  anguish,  for  your  dear  sake 
Ah,  no!  I  will  not  accept  your  oath. 


92 


BERLIX  AND   gA^YS-SOUCI ;     OR, 


[  have  not  heard  your  words — those 
heavenly  words  which  would  have 
filled  my  heart  with  light  and  gladness, 
had  they  not  contained  your  fatal  con- 
demnation. Oh,  my  beloved !  you 
swear  that  you  love  me?  That  is,  to 
sacrifice  all  the  high  privileges  of  your 
rank  ;  the  power  and  splendor  which 
would  surround  a  husband  of  equal 
birth — a  throne,  a  royal  crown.  Be- 
ware! when  I  once  accept  your  love, 
then  you  are  mine ;  then  I  will  never 
release  you  ;  not  to  the  king — not  even 
to  God.  You  will  be  mine  through  all 
time  and  all  eternity;  nothing  shall 
tear  you  from  my  arms,  not  even  your 
own  wish,  your  own  prayers.  Oh, 
Amelia !  do  you  see  that  I  am  a  mad- 
man, insane  from  rapture  and  dcspaii- ! 
Should  you  not  flee  from  a  maniac  ? 
Perhaps  his  arm,  imbued  with  giant 
strength,  seeking  to  hold  you  ever  to 
his  heart,  might  crush  you.  Fly,  then ; 
spurn  me  from  you ;  go  to  your  room  ; 
go,  and  say  to  this  mocking  courtier, 
to  whom  nothing  is  holy,  not  even  our 
love,  who  is  surprised  at  nothing — go 
and  say  to  him :  '  Trenck  was  a  mad- 
man ;  I  summoned  him  for  pity ;  I  hoped 
by  mildness  and  forbearance  to  heal 
him.  I  have  succeeded;  he  is  gone. 
Go,  now,  and  watch  over  your  friend.' 
I  will  not  contradict  your  words;  so 
soon  as  you  cross  the  threshold  of  the 
door,  I  will  spring  from  the  balcony. 
I  will  be  careful ;  I  will  not  stumble ; 
I  will  not  dash  my  head  against  the 
stones;  I  will  not  be  found  dead  under 
your  window ;  no  trace  c  f  blood  shall 
mark  my  desperate  path.  My  wounds 
are  fatal,  but  they  shall  bleed  inward- 
ly ;  only  upon  the  battle-field  will  I  lie 
down  to  die.  Amid  the  roar  of  can- 
non I  sha,ll  not  be  heard ;  I  dare  call 
your  name  with  the  last  sigh  which 
bursts  from  my  icy  lips;  my  last  words 
of  love  will  mingle  with  the  convulsive 
groans  of  the  dying.  Flee,  then  1  flee 
from  wretchedness  and  despair.    May 


God  bless  you,  find  make  you  hap- 
py!" 

Trenck  drew  f<side  reverentially,  that 
she  might  pass  him  ;  but  she  moved 
not — her  eyes  were  misty  with  tears, 
tears  of  love,  of  heavenly  peace.  Ame- 
lia laid  her  soft  hand  upon  his  shoul- 
der. Her  eyes,  which  were  fixed  upon 
his  face,  had  a  wondrous  glow.  Love 
and  high  resolve  were  written  there. 
"  Two  of  the  brightest  stars  in  yonder 
heavens  did  wander  in  our  sphere.'* 
Trenck  looked  upon  her,  and  saw  and 
felt  that  we  are  indeed  made  in  the 
image  of  God. 

"  I  seek  no  safety  in  flight.  I  remain 
by  your  side ;  I  love  you,  I  love  you  1 
This  is  no  trembling,  sighing,  blushing, 
sentimental  love  of  a  young  maiden. 
I  ofitr  you  the  love  of  a  bold,  proud 
woman,  who  looks  shame  and  death  in 
the  face.  In  the  fire  of  my  anguish, 
my  love  has  become  purified  and  hard- 
ened ;  in  this  flame  it  has  forgotten  its 
girlish  blushes,  and  is  unbending  and 
unconquerable.  I  have  baptized  it 
with  my  tears ;  I  have  taken  it  to  my 
heart,  as  a  mother  takes  her  new-born 
child  whose  existence  is  her  condemna- 
tion, her  dishonor,  her  shame ;  whom 
she  loves  boundlessly,  and  blesses  even 
while  weeping  over  it !  I  also  weep, 
and  I  feel  that  condemnation  and 
shame  are  my  portion.  I  also  bless  my 
love;  I  think  myself  happy  and  envi. 
able,  God  has  blessed  me ;  He  has 
sent  one  pure,  burning  ray  of  His  celes- 
tial existence  into  my  heart,  and  taught 
me  how  to  love  unchangeably,  immor- 
tally." 

"Oh,  Amelia,  why  cannot  I  die 
now  ?  "  cried  Trenck,  falling  powerless 
at  her  feet. 

She  stooi^ed  and  raised  him  up  with 
a  strong  hand.  "  Rise,"  she  said  ;  "  we 
must  stand  erect,  side  by  side,  firm  and 
cool.  When  you  kneel  before  me,  I 
fear  that  you  s(;e  in  me  a  princess,  the 
sister  of  a  king.    I  am  simply  your  be 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


y3 


oved,  the  woman  who  adores  you. 
Look  you,  Trenck,  I  do  not  say  '  the 
young  girl ; '  in  my  interior  life  I  am 
no  longer  that.  This  fearful  battle 
with  myself  has  made  me  old  and  cau- 
tious. A  young  girl  is  trembling  and 
cowardly.  I  am  firm  and  brave ,  a 
young  girl  blushes  when  she  confesses 
her  love ;  I  do  not  confess,  I  declare 
and  glory  in  my  passion.  A  young  girl 
shudders  when  she  thinks  of  dishonor 
and  misery,  of  the  power  and  rage  and 
menaces  of  her  family ;  when  with  pro- 
phetic eye  she  sees  a  herald  clad  in 
mourning  announcing  her  dark  fate.  I 
shudder  not.  I  am  no  weak  maiden ; 
I  am  a  woman  who  loves  without  limit, 
unchangeably,  eternally." 

She  threw  her  arms  around  him, 
and  a  long  and  blessed  pause  ensued. 
Lightly  whispered  the  wind  in  the 
tops  of  the  lofty  poplars  and  oaks  of 
the  garden;  unnumbered  stars  came 
out  in  their  soft  splendor  and  looked 
down  upon  this  slumbering  world. 
Many  slept,  forgetful  alike  of  their  joys 
and  their  griefs;  some,  rejoicing  in 
uuhoped-for  happiness,  looked  up  with 
grateful  and  loving  hearts ;  others, 
with  convulsive  wringing  of  the  hands 
and  wild  cries  of  anguish,  called  upon 
Heaven  for  aid.  What  know  the  stars 
of  this?  they  flash  and  glimmer  alike 
upon  the  happy  and  the  despairing. 
The  earth  and  sky  have  no  tears,  no 
sympathy  for  earthly  passions.  Ame- 
lia released  herself  from  the  arms  of 
her  lover  and  fixed  her  eyes  upon  the 
heavens.  Suddenly  a  star  fell,  mark- 
uig  its  downward  and  rapid  flight  with 
a  line  of  silver ;  in  a  moment,  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  it  was  extin- 
guished. 

"An  evil  omen!"  cried  she,  pointing 
upward.  With  a  mysterious  sympathy, 
Trenck  had  looked  up  at  the  same  mo- 
ment. 

"The  heavens  will  not  deceive  us, 
Amelia ;  they  warn  us,  but  this  warn- 


ing comes  too  late.  You  are  mine,  you 
have  sworn  that  you  love  me ;  I  have 
accepted  your  vows.  May  God  also 
have  heard  them,  and  may  He  be  gra- 
cious to  us !  Is  it  not  written  that 
faith  can  remove  mountains  ?  that  she 
is  more  powerful  than  the  mightiest 
kings  of  the  earth ;  stronger  than  death 
— that  conquerors  and  heroes  fall  be- 
fore her  ?  Let  us,  then,  have  faith  in 
our  love ;  let  us  be  strong  in  hope,  in 
patience,  in  constancy." 

"  My  brother  says  we  shall  soon  have 
war.  Will  you  not  win  a  wreath  of 
laurel  upon  the  battle-field?  who  can 
know  but  the  king  may  value  it  as 
highly,  may  consider  it  as  glorious,  as 
a  princely  crown  ?  All  my  sisters  are 
married  to  princes;  perhaps  my  royal 
brother  may  pardon  me  for  loving  a 
hero  whose  brow  is  bound  by  a  laurel- 
wreath  alone." 

"  Swear  to  me,  Amelia,  to  wait — to 
be  patient,  to  give  me  time  to  reach 
this  goal,  which  you  paint  in  such 
heavenly  colors." 

"I  swear !'' 

"  You  will  never  be  the  wife  of  an- 
other?" 

"  I  will  never  be  the  wife  of  another." 

"  Be  it  prince  or  king ;  even  if  your 
brother  commands  it  ?  " 

"  Be  it  prince  or  king ;  even  if  my 
brother  commands  it,  I  wU]  never  obey 
him." 

"  God,  my  God !  you  have  heard  our 
vows."  While  speaking,  he  took 
Amelia's  head  in  his  hands  softly  and 
bowed  it  down  as  if  it  were  a  holy 
sacrifice  which  he  offered  up  to  Heav- 
en. "  You  have  heard  her  oath :  O 
God,  punish  her,  crush  her  in  your 
wrath,  if  she  prove  false ! " 

"  I  will  be  faithful  to  the  end.  May 
God  punish  me  if  I  fail  I " 

"And  now,  beloved,  you  are  mme 
eternally.  Let  me  press  our  betrothal 
kiss  upon  your  sweet  lips ;  you  are  my 
bride,   my   wife.      Tremble  not    now, 


H 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


turn  not  away  from  my  arms!  you 
have  no  other  refuge,  no  other  strong 
fortress  than  my  heart,  but  it  is  a  rock 
on  which  you  can  safely  build;  its 
foundation  is  strong,  it  can  hold  and 
sustain  you.  If  the  storm  is  too  fierce, 
we  can  plunge  together  into  the  wild, 
raging  sea,  and  be  buried  in  the  deep. 
Oh,  mj'-  bride,  let  me  kiss  your  lips ;  you 
are  sanctified  and  holy  in  my  eyes  till 
that  glorious  day  in  which  life  or  death 
shall  unite  us." 

"  No,  you  shall  not  kiss  me ;  I  em- 
brace you,  my  beloved,"  and  she 
pressed  her  soft  full  lips,  which  no  un- 
truthful, immodest  word  had  ever 
desecrated,  to  his.  It  was  a  kiss  ho- 
ly, innocent,  and  pure  as  a  maiden's 
prayer,  "  And  now,  my  beloved,  fare- 
well," said  Amelia,  after  a  long  pause, 
m  which  their  lips  liad  been  silent,  but 
their  hearts  had  spoken  to  each  otlier 
and  to  God.  "Go,"  she  said;  "night 
melts  into  morn,  the  day  breaks !  " 

"My  day  declines,  my  night  comes 
on  apace,"  sighed  Trenck.  "  When  do 
we  meet  again  ?  " 

Amelia  looked  up,  smilingly,  to  the 
heavens,  "  Ask  the  stars  and  the 
calendar  when  the  heavens  are  dark, 
and  the  moon  hides  her  fair  face;  then 
I  expect  you — the  window  will  be  open 
and  the  door  unbarred." 

"  The  moon  has  ever  been  thought  to 
be  the  friend  of  lovers,"  said  Trenck, 
pressing  the  hand  of  the  princess  to  his 
heart;  "but  I  hate  her  with  a  perfect 
hatred,  she  robs  me  of  my  happiness." 

"And  now,  let  us  return  to  Baron 
Pollnitz,  who  is,  without  doubt,  im- 
patient." 

"  Why  must  he  always  accompany 
me,  Amelia  ?  why  will  you  not  allow 
me  to  come  alone  ? " 

"  Why  ?  I  scarcely  know  myself.  It 
seems  to  me  we  are  safer  when  watched 
over  by  the  eye  of  a  friend  ;  perhaps  I 
am  unduly  anxious;  a  warning  voice 
whispers  me  that  it  is  better  so.    Poll- 


nitz has  become  the  confidant  of  our 
love,  let  us  trust  him  fully;  let  him 
know  that,  though  traitors  and  merit- 
ing punishment  in  the  sight  of  men,  we 
are  not  guilty  in  the  sight  of  God,  and 
have  no  cause  to  blush  or  look  down. 
Pollnitz  must  always  accompany  you." 

"Ah,  Amelia!"  sighed  Trenck; 
"  you  have  not  forgotten  that  you  are 
a  princess.  Love  has  not  wholly  con- 
quered yon.  You  command.  It  is  not 
so  with  me.  I  submit,  I  obey,  and  I 
am  silent.  Be  it  as  you  will :  Pollnitz 
shall  always  accompany  me  —  only 
promise  me  to  come  ever  upon  the  bal- 
cony." 

"I  promise!  and  now,  beloved,  let 
us  say  farewell  to  God,  to  the  heavens, 
to  the  soft  stars,  and  the  dark  night, 
which  has  spread  her  mantle  over  us 
and  allowed  us  to  be  happy." 

"Farewell,  farewell,  my  happiness, 
my  love,  my  pride,  my  hope,  my  fu- 
ture !  Oh,  Amelia,  why  cannot  I  go 
this  moment  into  battle,  and  pluck 
high  honors  which  will  make  me  more 
worthy  of  you  ? " 

They  embraced  for  the  last  time 
and  then  stepped  into  the  room.  Poll- 
nitz still  sat  on  the  divan  before  the 
table.  Only  a  poor  remnant  of  the 
feast  remained;  his  tongue  had  been 
forced  to  silence  in  this  lonely  room, 
but  he  had  been  agreeably  occupied 
with  the  game,  fruits,  jellies,  and  wine 
which  were  placed  before  him  ;  he  had 
stretched  himself  comfortably  upon  the 
sofa,  and  was  quietly  enjoying  the  bless- 
ed feeling  of  a  healthy  and  undisturbed 
digestion.  At  last  he  had  fallen  asleep, 
or  seemed  so ;  it  was  some  moments 
before  Trenck  succeeded  in  forcing  him 
to  open  his  eyes. 

"  You  are  cruel,  young  friend,"  said 
he,  rising  up;  "you  have  disturbed  me 
in  the  midst  of  a  wondrous  and  rap- 
turous dream." 

"  Might  I  inquire  into  this  dream  ? 
said  the  princess. 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT   AXD   HIS  FRIENDS. 


95 


"  Ah,  youi  royal  highness,  I  dreamed 
of  the  only  thing  which  could  ever  sur- 
prise or  enrapture  me  in  this  comi- 
cal and  good-for-nothing  world.  I 
dreamed  I  had  no  creditors,  and  heaps 
of  gold." 

"  And  your  dreara  differs  widely 
from  the  reality  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  gracious  princess,  just  the 
opposite  is  true.  I  have  unnumbered 
creditors,  and  no  gold." 

"  Poor  Pollnitz !  how  do  you  propose 
to  free  yourself  from  this  painful  em- 
barrassment ?  " 

"  Ah,  your  royal  highness,  I  shall 
never  attempt  it !  I  am  more  than 
content  when  I  can  find  some  soothing 
palliatives  for  this  chronic  disease,  and, 
at  least,  find  as  many  louis  d'ors  in  my 
pocket  as  I  have  creditors  to  threaten 
me." 

"  And  is  that  now  your  happy  state  ?  " 

"No,  princess,  I  have  only  twelve 
louis  d'ors." 

"  And  how  many  craditors  ? " 

"  Two-and-thirty." 

"  So  twenty  louis  d'ors  are  wanting 
to  satisfy  your  longing  ? " 

"  Yes,  unhappil}'. " 

The  princess  walked  to  her  table  and 
took  from  it  a  little  roll  of  gold,  which 
she  handed  to  the  master  of  ceremonies. 
"  Take  it, "  said  she,  smiling ;  "  yester- 
day I  received  my  pin-money  for  the 
month,  and  I  rejoice  that  I  am  in  a 
condition  to  balance  your  creditors 
and  your  louis  d'ors  at  this  time. " 

Pollnitz  took  the  gold  -without  a 
blush,  and  kissed  the  hand  of  the  prin- 
cess gallantly.  "  Ah  !  I  have  but  one 
cause  of  repentance,"  sighed  he. 

"Well,  what  is  that?" 

"  That  I  did  not  greatly  increase  the 
number  of  my  creditors.  My  God  !  who 
could  have  guessed  the  magnanimous 
ait4:-ntioiis  of  my  royal  princess  ?  " 


CHAPTER  VHL 

THE     FIRST     CLOUD. 

Deuxk  with  happiness,  revelling  in 
the  recollection  of  this  first  interview 
with  his  lovely  and  exalted  mistress, 
Frederick  von  Trenck  rode  slowly 
through  the  lonely  highways  toward 
Potsdam.  It  was  not  necessary  for  him 
to  pay  any  attention  to  the  road,  as  his 
horse  knew  every  foot  of  the  way. 
Trenck  laid  his  bridle  carelessly  upon 
the  neck  of  the  noble  animal,  and  gave 
himself  up  entirely  to  meditation. 
Suddenly  night  waned,  the  vapors 
melted,  light  appeared  in  the  east,  and 
the  fli'st  jjurple  glow  was  succeeded  by 
a  clear,  soft  blue.  The  larks  sang  out 
their  joyous  morning  song  in  the 
heavens,  not  yet  disturbed  by  the  noise 
and  dust  of  the  day. 

Trenck  heard  not  the  song  of  the  lark, 
he  saw  not  the  rising  sun,  which,  with 
his  golden  rays,  illuminatad  the  land- 
scape, and  changed  the  dew-drops  in 
the  cups  of  the  flowers  into  shimmer- 
ing diaiponds  and  rubies;  he  was 
dreaming,  dreaming.  The  sweet  and 
wondrous  happiness  of  the  last  few 
hours  intoxicated  his  soul ;  he  recalled 
every  word,  every  smile,  every  pressure 
of  the  hand  of  his  belove:!,  and  a 
crimson  blush  suffused  his  cheek,  a 
sweet  tremor  oppressed  his  heart,  as  he 
remembered  that  she  had  been  clasped 
in  his  arms ;  that  he  had  kissed  the 
pure,  soft,  girlish  lips,  whose  breath 
was  fresher  and  more  odorous  than 
the  glorious  morning  air  which  fanned 
his  cheeks  and  played  with  his  long 
dark  hair.  With  a  radiant  smile  and 
proudly-erected  head,  ho.  reoalleJ  the 
promise  of  the  princess.  She  had  given 
him  reason  to  hope  ;  she  believed  in  the 
possibility  of  their  union. 

And  why,  indeed,  might  not  this  be 
possible  ?    Had  not   his  career  in  the 


06 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


last  few  months  been  so  brilliant  as  to 
excite  tlie  envy  of  his  comrades  ?  was 
he  not  recognized  as  the  special  favorite 
of  the  king  ?  Scarcely  six  months  had 
passed  since  he  arrived  in  Berlin ;  a 
young,  poor,  and  unknown  student,  he 
was  commended  to  the  king  by  his 
protector,  the  Count  von  Lottum,  who 
earnestly  petitioned  his  majesty  to  re- 
ceive him  into  his  lifeguard.  The  king, 
charmed  by  his  handsome  and  martial 
figure,  by  his  cultivated  intellect  and 
wonderful  memory,  had  made  him  cor- 
net in  his  cavalry-guard,  and  a  few 
weeks  later  he  was  i^romotcd  to  a  lieu- 
tenancy. Though  but  eighteen  years 
of  age,  he  had  the  distinguished  honor 
to  be  chosen  by  the  king  to  exercise 
two  regiments  of  Silesian  cavalry,  and 
Frederick  himself  had  expressed  his 
content,  not  only  in  gracious  but  aflfcc- 
tionate  words.*  It  is  well  known  that 
the  smile  of  a  prince  is  like  the  golden 
rays  of  the  sun :  it  lends  light  and 
glory  to  every  object  upon  which  it 
rests  and  attracts  the  curious  gaze  of 
men. 

The  handsome  young  lieutenant,  bask- 
king  in  the  rays  of  royal  favor,  was 
naturally  an  object  of  remark  and  the 
most  distinguished  attentions  to  the 
circle  of  the  court.  More  than  once 
the  king  had  been  seen  to  lay  his  arm 
confidingly  upon  the  shoulder  of  Trenck, 
and  converse  with  him  long  and  smil- 
ingly ;  more  than  (mce  had  the  proud 
and  almost  unapproachable  queen- 
mother  accorded  the  young  ofBcer  a 
gracious  salutation ;  more  than  once 
had  the  princesses  at  the  fetes  of  the  last 
winter  selected  him  as  their  partner, 
and  all  those  young  and  lovely  girls  of 
the  court  declared  that  there  was  no  bet- 
ter dancer,  no  more  attentive  cavalier, 
no  more  agreeable  companion  than  Fred- 
erick von  Trenck — than  this  youthful, 
witty,  merry  officer,  who  surpassed  all 

*  "  M6molres  de  Frfidiric  Baron  von  Trenck," 
traduits  par  lul-mumc  sur  Torlglnal  allemando. 


his  comrades,  not  only  in  his  heigh* 
and  the  splendor  of  his  form,  but  in 
talent  and  amiability.  It  was  there- 
fore to  be  expected  that  this  proud 
aristocracy  would  seek  to  draw  the 
favorite  of  the  king  and  of  the  ladies 
into  their  circle. 

Frederick  von  Trenck  was  of  too 
sound  and  healthy  a  nature,  he  had  too 
much  strength  of  character,  to  be  made 
vain  or  supercilious  by  these  attentions- 
He  soon,  however,  accustomed  himself 
to  them  as  his  right;  and  he  was 
scarcely  surprised  when  the  king,  after 
his  promotion,  sent  him  two  splendid 
horses  from  his  own  stable,  and  a  thou- 
sand thalers,*  at  that  time  a  consider- 
able sum  of  money. 

This  general  adulation  inspired  natu- 
rally bold  wishes  and  ambitious  dreams, 
and  led  him  to  look  upon  the  impos- 
siljle  and  unheard  of  as  possible  and 
attainable.  Frederick  von  Trenck  was 
not  vain  or  imperitnis,  but  he  was  proud 
and  ambitious ;  he  had  a  great  object 
in  view,  and  all  his  powers  were  con- 
secrated to  that  end;  in  his  hopeful, 
sunny  hours,  he  did  not  doubt  of  suc^ 
cess ;  he  was  ever  diligent,  ever  watch- 
ful, ever  ready  to  embrace  an  opportu- 
nity ;  ever  expecting  some  giant  work, 
which  would,  in  its  fruition,  bring  him 
riches  and  honor,  fame  and  greatness. 
He  felt  that  he  had  strength  to  win  a 
world  and  lay  it  bound  at  his  feet; 
and  if  the  king  had  commanded  him 
to  undertake  the  twelve  labors  of  Her- 
cules, he  would  not  have  shrunk  from 
the  ordeal.  Convinced  that  a  gloriocs 
future  awaited  him,  he  prej^ared  him 
self  for  it.  No  hour  Ibund  him  idle. 
"When  his  comrades,  wearied  by  the 
fatiguing  service  and  the  oft-repeated 
exercises  and  preparations  for  war,  re- 
tired to  rest,  Trenck  was  earnestly  en- 
gaged in  some  grave  study,  some  scien- 
tific work,  seated  at  his  writing-table, 

♦  "M6mo1res  de  Fr6d6ric  von  Trenck,"  traoaits 
par  lui-meme  sur  Toriglnal  allemande. 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


9^ 


aurrounded  witli  books,  maps,  and 
drawings. 

The  young  lieutenant  was  preparing 
himself  to  be  a  general,  or  a  conquer- 
ing hero,  by  his  talents  and  his  great 
deeds ;  to  subdue  the  world  and  its 
prejudices ;  to  bridge  over  with  laurels 
and  trophies  the  gulf  which  separated 
bim  from  the  princess.  Was  he  not 
already  on  the  way  ?  Did  not  the  fu- 
ture beckon  to  him  with  glorious  prom- 
ise ?  Must  not  he,  who  at  eighteen 
years  of  age  had  attained  that  for 
which  many  not  less  endowed  had 
given  their  whole  lives  in  vain — he,  the 
flattered  cavalier,  the  scholar,  and  the 
officer  of  the  king's  guard — be  set 
apart,  elected  to  some  exalted  fate  ? 

These  were  the  thoughts  which  oc- 
cupied the  young  man,  and  which 
made  him  forgetful  of  all  other  things, 
even  the  dang'T  with  which  the  slow 
movements  of  his  horse  and  the  ever- 
rising  sun  threatened  him. 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  king  to  at- 
tend the  early  morning  parade,  and  the 
commander.  Captain  Jaschinsky,  did 
not  belong  to  Trenck's  friends ;  he  en- 
vied him  for  his  rapid  promotion;  it 
angered  him  that  Trenck  had,  at  a 
bound,  reached  that  position  to  which 
he  had  wearily  crept  forward  through 
long  years  of  service.  It  would  have 
made  him  happy  to  see  this  young 
man,  who  advanced  so  proudly  and 
triumphantly  upon  the  path  of  honor 
and  distinction,  cast  down  from  the 
giddy  height  of  royal  favor,  and 
trampled  in  the  dust  of  forgetfulness. 
He  watched  his  young  lieutenant  with 
the  smiling  cunning  of  a  base  soul,  re- 
solved to  punish  harshly  the  smallest 
neglect  of  duty. 

And  now  he  had  found  his  opportu- 
nity. A  sergeant,  who  was  a  spy  for 
the  captain,  informed  him  that  Trenck's 
corporal  had  told  him  his  master  had 
ridden  forth  late  in  the  night  and  had 
aot  yet  returned.  The  sergeant  had 
7 


watched  the  door  of  the  house  in 
which  Trenck  resided,  and  was  con- 
vinced that  he  was  still  absent.  This 
intelligence  filled  the  heart  of  Captain 
Jaschinsky  with  joy ;  he  concealed  it, 
however,  under  the  mask  of  indiffer- 
ence ;  he  declared  that  he  did  not  be- 
lieve this  story  of  Trenck's  absence. 
The  young  man  knew  full  well  that  no 
officer  was  allowed  to  leave  Potsdam, 
even  for  an  hour,  without  permission, 
particularly  during  tlie  night. 

In  order,  as  he  said,  to  convince  the 
sergeant  of  the  untruth  of  this  state- 
ment, he  sent  him  ,with  some  trifling 
commission  to  Lieutenant  von  Trenck. 
The  sergeant  returned  triumphant ;  the 
baron  was  not  at  home,  and  his  servant 
was  most  anxious  about  him.  The 
captain  shrugged  his  shoulders  silently. 
The  clock  struck  eight ;  he  seized  his 
hat,  and  hastened  to  the  parade. 

The  whole  line  was  formed;  every 
officer  stood  by  his  regiment,  except 
the  lieutenant  of  the  second  company. 
The  cajJtain  saw  this  at  a  glance,  and 
a  wicked  smile  for  one  moment  played 
upon  his  face.  He  rode  with  zealous 
haste  to  the  front  of  his  regiment  and 
saluted  the  king,  who  descended  the 
steps  of  the  castle,  accompanied  by  hia 
generals  and  adjutants. 

At  this  moment,  to  the  right  wing 
of  the  regiment,  there  was  a  slight  dis- 
turbance, which  did  not  escape  the  lis- 
tening ear  of  the  captain.  He  turned 
his  head,  and  saw  that  Trenck  had 
joined  his  company,  and  that  his  horse 
was  panting  and  bathed  in  sweat 
The  captain's  brow  was  clouded;  the 
young  officer  seemed  to  have  escaped 
the  threatened  danger.  The  king  had 
seen  nothing,  Trenck  was  in  his  place, 
and  it  would  be  useless  to  bring  a 
charge  against  him. 

The  king,  however,  had  seen  all ;  hia 
keen  eye  had  observed  Trenck's  rapid 
approach,  and  his  glowing,  heated 
countenance;    and  as  he  rode  to  the 


98 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


front,  he  drpw  in  bis  horse  directly  be- 
fore Trenck. 

"How  comes  it  that  your  horse  is 
fatigued  and  sweating?  I  must  sup- 
pose Jie  is  fresh  from  the  stable,  and 
his  master  just  from  his  bed.  It  ap- 
pears, however,  that  he  has  been  de- 
layed there;  I  see  that  he  has  just  ar- 
rived upon  the  parade-ground." 

The  officer  murmured  a  few  incom- 
prehensible wo)"ds. 

"  Will  you  an^er  me  ?  "  said  the 
king;  "is  your  horse  just  from  the 
stable — are  you  directly  from  your 
bed  ? " 

Frederick  von  Trenck's  head  had 
been  bowed  humbly  upon  his  breast, 
he  now  raised  it  boldly  up  ;  he  was  re- 
solved ;  his  fierce  eyes  met  those  of  the 
king.  "  No,  your  majesty,"  said  he,  with 
a  cool,  composed  mien,  "my  horse  is 
not  from  the  stable — I  am  not  from  my 
bed." 

There  was  a  pause,  an  anxious, 
breathless  pause.  Every  eye  was  fixed 
observantly  upon  the  king,  whose  se- 
verity in  military  discipline  was  known 
and  feared. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  the  king  at 
last,  "  that  I  command  my  officers  to 
be  punctual  at  parade  ?" 

"Yes,  sire." 

"Do  you  know  that  it  is  positively 
forbidden  to  leave  Potsdam  without 
permission  ? " 

"  Yes,  your  majesty." 

"  Well,  then,  since  this  was  known  to 
you,  where  have  you  been  ?  You  con- 
fess that  you  do  not  come  from  your 
dwelling  ? " 

"  Sire,  I  was  on  the  chase,  and  loi- 
tered too  long.  I  know  I  am  guilty  of 
a  great  miidcmcanor,  and  I  expect  my 
pardon  only  from  the  grace  of  my 
king." 

The  king  smiled,  and  his  glance  was 
mild  and  kindly.  "  You  expect  also, 
as  it  appears,  under  any  circumstances, 
a  pardon?     AVell,  this  time  you  shall 


not  be  disappointed.  I  am  well  pleased 
that  you  have  been  bold  enough  to 
speak  the  truth.  I  love  truthful  peo- 
ple ;  they  are  always  brave.  This  time 
you  shall  go  unijunished,  but  beware 
of  the  second  offence.     I  warn  you." 

Alas  I  what  power  had  even  a  Idng'a 
warning  over  the  passionate  love  of  a 
youth  of  eighteen  ?  Trenck  soon  for- 
got the  danger  from  which  he  had  es- 
caped ;  and  even  if  remembered,  it 
would  not  have  restrained  him. 

It  was  again  a  cloudy,  dark  night, 
and  he  knew  that  the  princess  expect- 
ed him.  As  he  stood  again  upon  the 
balcony,  guarded  by  the  watchful  mas- 
ter of  ceremonies ;  as  he  listened  to  the 
sweet  music  of  Amelia's  voice  and  com- 
prehended the  holy  and  precious  char- 
acter of  her  girlish  and  tender  nature; 
as  he  sat  at  her  feet,  pouring  out  the 
rich  treasures  of  his  love  and  happiness, 
and  felt  her  trembling  small  white 
hand  upon  his  brow ;  as  he  dreamed 
with  her  of  a  blessed  and  radiant  fu- 
ture, in  which  not  only  God  and  the 
night  but  the  king  and  the  whole 
world  might  know  and  recognize  their 
love — how  could  he  rememl)er  that  the 
king  had  ordered  the  parade  at  seven 
in  the  morning,  and  that  it  was  even 
now  impossible  for  him  to  reach  Pots- 
dam at  that  hour? 

The  parade  was  over  when  he  reached 
his  quarters.  A  guard  stood  before  his 
door,  and  led  him  instantly  before  the 
king.  Frederick  was  alone  in  his  cabi- 
net. He  silently  dismissed  his  adjutant 
and  the  guard,  then  walked  for  some 
time  backward  and  forward  through 
the  room,  without  seeming  to  observe 
Trenck,  who  stood  with  pale  but  re- 
solved countenance  before  the  door. 

Trenck  followed  every  movement  of 
the  king  with  a  steady  glance,  "  If  he 
cashiers  me,  I  will  shoot  myself,"  he 
said,  in  a  low  tone.  "  If  he  puts  me  to 
the  torture,  in  order  to  learn  the  secret 
of  my  love,  I  can  bear  it  and  be  silent " 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


99 


But  there  was  another  possibility 
apon  which,  in  the  desperation  of  his 
Boul,  Trenck  had  not  thought.  "What 
should  he  do  if  the  king  approached 
him  mildly  and  sorrowfully,  and,  with 
the  gentle,  pereuasive  words  of  a  kind 
friend,  besought  him  to  explain  this 
mystery  ? 

This  was  exactly  the  course  adopted 
by  the  king.  He  stepped  forward  to 
the  poor,  pale,  almost  breathless  youth, 
and  looked  him  steadily  in  the  eyes. 
His  glance  was  not  threatening  and 
scornful,  as  Trenck  had  expected,  but 
gad  and  reproachful. 

"  Why  have  you  again  secretly  left 
Potsdam  ?  "  said  the  king.  "  Where 
Jo  you  find  the  proud  courage  to  dis- 
obey my  commands  ?  Captain  Jaschin- 
sky  has  brought  serious  charges  against 
you.  lie  tells  me  that  you  often  leave 
Potsdam  secretly.  Do  you  know  that, 
if  punished  according  to  the  law,  you 
must  be  cashiered  ? '' 

"  Yes,  I  know,  sire.  I  know  also 
that  I  will  not  outlive  this  shame." 

A  scornful  glance  shot  from  the 
Icing's  eye.  "  Do  you  intend  to  make 
me  anxious  ?    Is  that  a  menace  ?  " 

"  Pardon,  sire.  It  is  not  in  my  power 
to  make  you  anxious,  and  I  do  not  dare 
lo  menace.  Of  what  importance  to  your 
majesty  is  this  atom,  this  unknown  and 
insignificant  youth,  who  is  only  seen 
when  irradiated  by  the  sunshine  of 
your  eye  ?  I  am  nothing,  an  .1  less  than 
nothing,  to  your  majesty ;  you  are 
every  thing  to  me.  I  will  not,  I  cannot 
live  if  your  highness  withdraws  your 
favor  from  me,  and  robs  me  of  the  pos- 
sibility of  winning  a  name  and  position 
for  myself  That  was  my  meaning, 
sire." 

"  You  are,  then,  ambitious,  and  thirst 
for  fame  ? " 

"Your  majesty,  I  would  gladly  sell 
one-half  of  my  life  to  the  devil  if  he 
would  insure  me  rank  and  glory  for  the 
other  half,  and  after  death  an  immor- 


tality of  fame.  Oh,  how  gladly  would 
I  make  this  contract !  " 

"  If  such  ambition  fires  your  soul, 
how  can  you  be  so  foolish,  so  inconsid- 
erate, as  to  bring  degradation  and 
shame  upon  yourself  by  carelessness  in 
duty  ?  He  who  is  not  prompt  and  or- 
derly in  small  things,  will  neglect  the 
most  important  duties.  Where  were 
you  last  night  ? " 

"  Sire,  I  was  on  the  chase." 

The  king  looked  at  him  with  angry, 
piercing  eyes.  Trenck  had  not  the 
courage  to  bear  this.  He  blushed  and 
looked  down. 

"You  have  told  me  an  untruth," 
said  the  king.  "  Think  again.  Where 
were  you  last  night  ? " 

"  Sire,  I  was  on  the  chase." 

"You repeat  that?" 

"  Your  majesty,  I  repeat  that." 

"  Will  you  solemnly  declare  that  this 
is  true  ?  "       » 

Trenck  was  silent. 

"  Will  you  declare  that  this  is  true  ?" 
repeated  the  king. 

The  young  officer  looked  up,  and  this 
time  he  had  the  courage  to  meet  the 
flaming  eye  of  the  king.  "  No,  sir2,  I 
will  not  affirm  it." 

"  You  confess,  then,  that  you  have 
told  me  an  untruth  ?  " 

"  Yes,  your  majesty." 

"Do  you  know  that  that  is  a  new 
and  grave  ofi^nce  ?  " 

"Yes,  your  majesty,  but  I  cannot  act 
otherwise." 

"You  will  not,  then,  tell  me  the 
truth  ? " 

"  I  cannot." 

"  Not  if  your  obstinacy  will  lead  to 
your  being  immediately  cashiered,  and 
to  your  imprisonment  in  the  fartresj  ?  " 

"  Not  then,  your  majesty.  I  cannot 
act  differently." 

"  Trenck,  Trenck,  be  on  your  guard  I 
Remember  that  you  speak  to  your  lord 
and  kiug,  who  has  a  right  to  demand 
the  truth." 


100 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


"  Your  majesty  may  punish  me,  it  is 
your  right  and  your  duty,  and  I  must 
bear  it,"  said  Trenck,  trembling  and 
ghastly  pale,  but  firm  and  confident  in 
himself. 

The  king  moved  off  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, then  stood  again  before  his 
lieutenant.  "  You  will  report  to  your 
captain  and  ask  for  your  discharge." 

Trenck  replied  not.  Perhaps  it  was 
not  in  his  power.  Two  great  tears  ran 
slowly  down  his  cheeks,  and  he  did  not 
restrain  them.  He  wept  for  his  youth, 
his  happiness,  his  honor,  and  his  fame. 

"  Go  !  "  repeated  the  king. 

The  young  man  bowed  low.  "  I 
thank  you  for  gracious  punishment," 
he  said ;  then  turned  and  opened  the 
door. 

The  eyes  of  the  king  had  followed 
him  with  marked  interest.  '"  Trenck  I  " 
cried  he  ;  and,  as  he  turned  and  waited 
silently  upon  the  threshold  for  the  new 
command,  the  king  stepped  forward 
hastily  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I  am  content  with  you !  You  have 
gone  astray,  but  the  anguish  of  soul 
you  have  just  now  endured  is  a  suffi- 
cient punishment.     I  forgive  you." 

A  wild  cry  of  joy  burst  from  the 
pale  lips  of  the  youth.  He  bowed  low 
over  the  king's  hand,  and  pressed  it 
with  passionate  earnestness  to  his  lips. 

"  Your  majesty  gives  me  my  life 
again !  I  thank  you !  oh,  I  thank 
you ! " 

The  king  smiled.  "And  yet  your 
life  must  have  but  little  worth  for  you, 
if  you  would  sign  it  away  so  readily. 
Once  more  I  have  forgiven  you,  but  I 
warn  you  for  the  future.  Be  on  your 
guard,  monsieur,  or  the  lightning  will 
fall  and  consume  you."  *  And  now  the 
king's  eye  was  threatening,  and  his 
voice  trembled  in  anger.  "You  have 
guarded  your  secret;  you  did  not  be- 
tray it,   even  when    threatened  with 

•The  king'i  own  words. — dee  Trenck's  "M6- 
nolres." 


punishment  worse  than  death.  Yovt 
honor,  as  a  cavalier,  demanded  that; 
and  I  am  not  surprised  that  you  hold 
it  sacred.  But  there  is  yet  another 
kind  of  honor,  which  you  have  this 
day  tarnished  —  I  mean  obedience  to 
your  king  and  general.  I  forgive  you 
for  this ;  and  now  I  must  speak  to  you 
as  a  friend,  and  not  as  a  king.  You 
are  wandering  in  dangerous  paths, 
young  man.  Turn  now,  while  there  is 
yet  time ;  turn,  before  the  abyss  opens 
which  will  swallow  you  up !  No  man 
can  serve  two  masters,  or  strive  success- 
fully after  two  objects.  He  who  wills 
something,  must  will  it  wholly ;  must 
give  his  undivided  heart  and  strength 
to  its  attainment;  must  sacrifice  every 
thing  else  to  the  one  great  aim  I  You 
are  striving  for  love  and  fame  at  the 
same  time,  you  will  forfeit  both.  Love 
makes  a  man  soft  and  yielding.  He 
who  leaves  a  mistress  behind  him  can- 
not go  bravely  and  defiantly  into  bat- 
tle, though  women  despise  men  who 
are  not  gallant  and  laurel-crowned. 
Strive  then,  Trenck,  first  to  become  a 
hero ;  then  it  will  be  time  to  play  the 
lover.  Pluck  your  laurels  first,  and 
then  gather  the  myrtle-wreath.  If  this 
counsel  does  not  suit  you,  then  give  up 
your  ambition,  and  the  path  to  fame 
which  you  have  chosen.  Lay  aside 
your  sword ;  though  I  can  promise  you 
that  soon,  and  with  honor,  you  may 
hope  to  use  it.  But  lay  it  aside,  and 
take  up  the  pen  or  the  hammer;  build 
yourscilf  a  nest ;  take  a  wife,  and  thank 
God  for  the  gift  of  a  child  every  twelve 
months ;  and  pray  that  the  sound  of 
battle  may  be  heard  only  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  the  steps  of  soldiers  may  not 
disturb  your  fields  and  gai'dens.  That 
is  also  a  future,  and  there  are  those 
who  are  content  with  it;  whose  ears 
are  closed  to  the  beat  of  drums  and  the 
sound  of  alarm-bells  which  now  resound 
throughout  Europe.  Choose,  then, 
young  man.    Will  you   be  a  soldier 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AliB  HIS  FRIENDS? 


101 


and  with  God's  help  a  hero?  or  will 
you  go  again  '  upon  the  chase  ? ' " 

"  I  will  be  a  soldier,"  cried  Trenck, 
completely  carried  away.  "  I  will  win 
fame,  honor,  and  distinction  upon  the 
battle-field,  and  above  all  I  will  gain 
the  approbation  and  consideration  of 
my  king.  My  name  shall  be  known 
and  honored  by  the  world." 

"  That  is  a  mighty  aim,"  said  the 
king,  smiling,  "and  it  requires  the  ded- 
ication of  a  life.  You  must  offer  up 
many  things,  and  above  all  other  things 
'  the  chase.'  I  do  not  know  what  you 
have  sought,  and  I  do  not  wish  to 
know.  I  counsel  you  though,  as  a 
friend,  to  give  up  the  pursuit.  I  have 
placed  the  two  alternatives  before  you, 
and  you  have  made  your  choice — you 
will  be  a  brave  soldier.  Now,  then, 
from  this  time  onward,  I  will  be  inex- 
orable against  even  your  smallest  neg- 
lect of  duty.  In  this  way  only  can  I 
make  of  you  what  you  resolve  to  be — a 
gallant  and  stainless  officer.  I  will  tell 
your  captain  to  watch  you  and  report 
every  fault ;  I  will  myself  observe  and 
scrutinize  your  conduct,  and  woe  to 
you  if  I  find  you  again  walking  in 
crooked  paths  !  I  will  be  stern  and  im- 
movable. Now,  monsieur,  you  are 
warned,  and  cannot  complain  if  a  wild 
tempest  bursts  over  your  head ;  the 
guilt  and  the  responsibility  will  be 
yours.    Not  another  word  !     Adieu  ! " 

Long  after  Trenck  had  left  the  room, 
the  king  stood  thoughtfully  looking 
toward  the  door  through  which  the 
tall,  graceful  figure  of  the  young  officer 
had  disappeared. 

"A  heart  of  steel,  a  head  of  iron," 
said  the  king  to  himself.  "He  will  be 
v^ery  happy,  or  very  wretched.  For 
such  natures  there  is  no  middle  way. 
Alas!  I  fear  it  had  been  better  for  him 
if  I  had  dismissed  him,  and — "  Fred- 
erick did  not  complete  his  sentence ;  he 
sighed  deeply,  and  his  brow  was  cloud- 
ed.    He  stepped  to  his  writing-table 


and  took  up'  sf  'Jargn  ftCal^d'  t^fivelope; 
opened  and  read  ft '  carefully.'  A  sad 
smile  played  upon  his  lips.  "Poor 
Amelia  ! "  said  he — "  poor  sister  1  They 
have  chosen  you  to  be  assistant  Abbess 
of  Quedlinburg,  A  miserable  alterna- 
tive for  the  Swedish  throne,  which  was 
in  your  power  I  Well,  I  will  sign  this 
paper."  He  took  the  pen  and  hastily 
wrote  his  name  upon  the  diploma.  "If 
she  is  resolved  never  to  marry,  she  will 
be  (me  day  Abbess  of  Quedlinburg — 
that  is  something.  Aurora  of  Konigs- 
mark  was  content  with  that,  but  only 
after  she  had  reached  the  height  of 
earthly  grandeur." 

Frederick  was  completely  unmanned 
by  these  painful  thoughts.  He  raised 
his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  said  in  a  low 
tone :  "  Poor  human  heart !  why  has 
Fate  made  you  so  soft,  when  you  must 
become  stone  in  order  to  support  the 
disappointments  and  anguish  of  lift  ? " 
He  stood  bowed  down  for  a  long  time, 
in  deep  thought ;  then  suddenly  rising 
proudly  erect,  he  exclaimed:  "Away 
with  such  cares !  I  have  no  time  to 
play  the  considerate  and  amiable  father 
to  my  family.  My  kingly  duty  and 
service  call  me  with  trumpet-tones." 


a 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE    COUNCIL    OF    WAK. 

Fbeberick  stepped  from  the  room 
into  the  adjoining  saloon,  where  his 
ministers  and  generals  were  assembled 
for  a  council  of  war.  His  expression 
was  calm  and  clear,  and  an  imposing 
fire  and  earnestness  lighted  up  his 
eyes.  He  was  again  the  king  and  the 
conqueror,  and  his  voice  rang  out  mar- 
tially : 

"The  days  of  comfort  and  repose 
are  over ;  we  have  reasoned  and  diplo- 
matized too  long ;  we  must  now  movt 


102 


♦BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;     OR, 


diJd'stixke.  ."  I  am  sarfeitecl  with  this 
contest  of  pen  and  ink.,  I  am  weary 
of  Austrian  cunning  and  intrigue.  In 
these  weighty  and  important  matters  I 
will  not  act  alone  upon  my  own  con- 
victions ;  I  will  listen  to  your  opinions 
and  receive  your  counsel :  I  will  not 
declare  war  until  you  say  that  an  hon- 
orable peace  is  no  longer  possible.  I 
will  unsheath  the  sword  only  when  the 
honor  of  ray  throne  and  of  my  people 
demands  it,  and  even  then  with  a  heavy 
heart;  for  I  know  what  burdens  and 
bitter  woes  it  will  bring  upon  my  poor 
land.  Let  us  therefore  carefully  read, 
weigh,  and  understand  the  paper  which 
lies  upon  the  table,  and  fulfil  the  duties 
which  it  lays  upon  us." 

Frederick  stepped  to  the  table  and 
seated  himself  The  generals,  the  old 
Dessauer,  Ziethen,  Winterfeld,  and  the 
king's  favorite,  Rothenberg,  with  the 
ministers  and  councillor  of  state,  placed 
themselves  silently  around  the  table. 
The  eyes  of  all  these  experienced  men, 
accustomed  to  battle  and  to  victory, 
were  steadily  fixed  upon  the  king.  His 
youthful  countenance  alone  was  clear 
and  bright ;  not  a  shadow  was  seen 
upon  his  brow. 

There  was  a  pause — a  stillness  like 
that  which  precedes  a  tem])est.  Every 
one  felt  the  importance  of  the  moment. 
All  these  wise  and  great  men  knew  that 
the  young  man  who  stood  in  their 
midst,  with  such  proud  and  calm  com- 
posure and  assurance,  held  in  his  hands 
at  this  moment  the  fate  of  Europe ;  that 
the  scales  would  fall  on  that  side  to 
which  his  sword  was  consecrated.  The 
king  raised  his  head,  and  his  eyes  wan- 
dered searcliingly  from  one  to  the  other 
of  the  earu(  st  faces  which  surrounded 
him. 

"You  know,  messieurs,"  said  Fred- 
erick, "that  Maria  Theresa,  who  calls 
herself  Empress  of  Germany  and  of 
Rome,  still  makes  war  against  our  ally 
Charles   the    Seventh.      Her   general, 


Karl  von  Lothringen,  has  triumphec. 
over  the  Bavarian  and  French  army  at 
Sempach;  and  Bavaria,  left,  by  the 
flight  of  the  emperor,  without  a  leader, 
has  been  compelled  to  submit  to  Maria 
Theresa,  Queen  of  Hungary.  She  has 
allied  herself  with  England,  Hanover, 
and  Saxony.  And  these  allied  powers 
have  been  victorious  over  the  army  of 
our  ally.  King  Louis  of  France,  com- 
manded by  Marshal  Noailles.  These 
successes  have  made  our  enemies  im- 
perious. They  have  demanded  much; 
they  have  resolved  to  obtain  all.  Ap- 
parently they  are  the  most  powerful. 
Holland  has  offered  money  and  ships; 
Sardinia  and  Saxony  have  just  signed 
the  treaty  made  at  Worms  by  England, 
Austria,  and  Holland.  So  they  have 
troops,  gold,  and  jDowerful  allies.  "We 
have  nothing  but  our  honor,  our  swords, 
and  our  good  cause.  We  are  the  allies 
of  a  land  poor  in  itself,  and,  what  is 
still  worse,  governed  by  a  weak  and 
faint-hearted  emperor;  and  of  France, 
whose  king  is  the  plaything  of  cour- 
tiers and  mistresses.  Our  adversaries 
know  their  strength,  and  are  acquaint- 
ed with  our  weakness.  Look,  mes- 
sieurs, at  this  letter  of  George  of  Eng- 
land to  our  godmother  Maria  Theresa 
of  Hungary ;  an  accident  placed  it  in 
our  hands,  or,  if  you  will,  a  Providence, 
which,  without  doubt,  watches  over 
the  prosperity  of  Prussia.  Read  it, 
messieurs." 

He  handed  General  Rothenberg  a 
paper,  which  he  read  with  frowning 
brow  and  scarcely  suppressed  scorn, 
and  then  passed  it  on  to  Winterfeld. 
The  king  studied  the  face  of  every 
reader,  and,  the  more  dark  and  stormy 
it  appeared,  the  more  gay  and  happy 
was  the  expression  of  his  countenance. 

He  received  the  letter  again  with  a 
friendly  smile  from  the  hands  of  hia 
minister,  and  pointing  to  it  with  his 
finger,  he  said:  "Have  you  well  con- 
sidered these  lines  where  the  king  says 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


103 


Madame,  what  is  good  to  take,  is  also 
good  to  return  ? '  What  think  you  of 
these  words,  Prince  von  Anhalt?" 

"  I  think,"  said  the  silver-haired  old 
warrior,  "that  we  will  prove  to  the 
English  king  what  Frederick  of  Prus- 
sia once  holds  cannot  be  rescued  from 
him." 

"You  think,  then,  that  our  hands 
are  strong  enough  to  hold  our  posses- 
sions ?  " 

"  Yes,  your  majesty."  t 

"  And  you,  gentlemen  ?  " 

"We  share  the  opinion  of  the 
prince." 

"You  have  expressed  precisely  my 
own  views,"  cried  Frederick,  with  de- 
light. "  If  this  is  your  conclusion, 
messieurs,  I  rejoice  to  lay  before  you 
another  document.  It  was  above  all 
other  things  the  desire  of  my  heart,  as 
long  as  it  was  possible,  to  preserve  the 
peace  of  Germany.  I  have  sacrificed 
my  personal  inclination  and  my  ambi- 
tion to  this  aim.  I  have  united  the 
German  princes  for  the  protection  of 
Charles  the  Seventh.  The  Frankfort 
union  should  be  a  lever  to  restore  free- 
dom to  Germany,  dignity  to  the  em- 
peror, and  peace  to  Europe.  But  no 
success  has  crowned  this  union ;  dis- 
cord prevails  amongst  them.  A  part 
of  our  allies  have  left  us,  under  the 
pretext  that  France  wUI  not  pay  the 
promised  gold.  Charles  the  Seventh  is 
flying  from  place  to  place,  and  our 
poor  land  is  gnianing  under  the  bur- 
dens of  a  crippling  and  exhausting 
war.  We  must  put  an  end  to  this.  In 
Buch  dire  need  and  necessity  it  is  bet- 
ter to  die  an  honorable  death  than  to 
bear  disgrace,  to  live  like  beggars  by 
the  grace  of  our  enemies.  I  have  not 
the  insolence  and  courage  of  cowardice 
so  to  live.  I  will  die  or  conquer !  I 
will  wash  out  these  scornful  words  of 
the  King  of  England  with  blood.  Si- 
lesia, my  Silesia,  which  I  have  con- 
quered, and  which  is  mine  by  right,  I 


will  hold  against  all  the  efforts  of  tho 
Hungarian  queen.  Look,  now,  at  this 
document;  it  is  a  treaty  which  I  have 
closed  with  France  against  Austria, 
and  for  the  protection  of  the  Emperor 
Charles.  And  now,  here  is  another 
paper.  It  is  a  manifesto  which  Maria 
Theresa  has  scattered  throughout  all 
Silesia,  in  which  she  declares  that  she 
no  longer  considers  hei-self  bound  by 
the  treaty  of  Breslau,  but  chiims  Silesia 
and  Glatz  as  her  own.  Consequently 
she  commands  the  Silesians  to  with- 
draw from  the  protection  of  Prussia, 
and  give  their  allegiance  to  their  right- 
ful inheritor." 

"  That  is  an  open  breach  of  con- 
tract^" said  one  of  the  generals. 

"  That  is  contrary  to  all  justice  and 
the  rights  of  the  people,"  cried  an- 
other. 

"  That  is  Austrian  politics,"  said  the 
king,  smiling.  "  They  hold  to  a  solemn 
contract,  which  was  detrimental  to 
them,  only  so  long  as  necessity  compels 
it;  so  soon  as  an  opportunity  offers  to 
their  advantage,  they  prove  faithless. 
They  do  not  care  to  be  considered  hon- 
orable, they  only  desire  to  be  feared, 
and  above  all,  they  will  bear  no  equals 
and  no  rivals  in  Germany.  3Iaria  The- 
resa feels  herself  strong  enough  to  take 
back  this  Silesia  I  won  from  her,  and  a 
peace  contract  is  not  sacred  in  her  eyes. 
Austria  was  and  is  naturally  the  enemy 
of  Prussia,  and  will  never  forgive  us 
becaiise  our  father,  by  the  power  of  his 
genius,  made  himself  a  king.  Austria 
woul,d  gladly  see  the  King  of  Prussia 
buried  in  the  little  Elector  of  Branden- 
burg, and  make  herself  rich  with  our 
possessions.  Will  we  suffer  that,  mes- 
sieurs ? " 

"  Never !  "  said  the  generals,  and  th« 
fire  of  battle  flashed  in  their  eyes. 

"  The  Queen  of  Hungary  has  com- 
manded her  troops  to  enter  Glats 
Shall  we  wait  till  this  offence  is  repeat 
ed?" 


:o4 


BERLIN  AND  SANS^OUCI;    OR, 


"If  the  Austrian  trooiDS  have  made 
ns  a  visit,  politeness  requires  that  we 
should  return  the  call,''  said  Ziethenj 
with  a  dry  laugh, 

"  If  the  Queen  of  Hungary  has  sent 
a  manifesto  to  Silesia,  we  must,  above 
all  other  things,  answer  this  manifes- 
to," said  the  councillor  of  state. 

"  Maria  Theresa  is  so  bold  and  inso- 
lent because  Bellona  is  a  woman,  con- 
sequently her  sister ;  but  we  will  j^rove 
to  her  that  Dame  Bellona  will  rather 
ally  herself  with  gallant  men  than  with 
sentimental  women,"  said  General  Roth- 
enberg. 

"  Now,  messieurs,  what  say  you  ? 
shall  we  have  peace  or  war  ? " 

"  War,  war  ! "  cried  they  all  in  one 
breath,  and  with  one  movement. 

The  king  raised  himself  from  his 
chair,  and  his  eagle  eye  was  dazzling. 

"  The  decisive  word  is  spoken,"  said 
he,  solemnly.  ''  Let  it  be  as  you  say  ! 
We  will  have  war!  Prepare  yourself. 
then,  generals,  to  return  the  visit  of 
Austria.  Ziethen  tells  us  that  this  is 
a  courtly  duty.  Our  councillor  will 
write  the  answer  to  Maria  Theresa's 
manifesto.  The  Austrians  have  visited 
us  in  Glatz,  we  will  return  their  call  in 
Prague.  Rotlienberg  thinks  that  Dame 
Bellona  would  incline  to  our  arms 
rather  than  to  those  of  the  queen,  so 
we  will  seek  to  win  her  by  tender  em- 
braces. I  think  the  goddess  would 
favor  our  Prince  of  Anhalt,  they  have 
often  fought  side  by  side.  Up,  then, 
prince,  to  battle  and  to  love's  sweet 
courtesies  with  your  old  mistress  Bel- 
lona !  Up,  my  friends,  one  and  all ! 
the  days  of  jjcace  are  over.  We  will 
have  war,  and  may  God  grant  His 
bleijsing  to  our  j^  ist  cause  !  " 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   CLOISTER  OF  CAMENS. 

It  was  a  still,  lovely  morning.  The 
sun  gilded  the  lofty,  giant  mountain 
and  irradiated  its  snow-crowned  top 
with  shifting  and  many-colored  light ; 
it  appeared  like  a  giant  lily,  luminous 
and  odorous.  The  air  was  so  clear  and 
pm'e,  that  even  in  the  far  distance  this 
range  of  mountains  looked  grand  and 
sublime.  The  spectator  was  deluded 
by  the  hope  of  j-eaching  their  green 
and  smiling  summits  in  a  few  moments. 
In  their  majestic  and  sunny  beauty  they 
seemed  to  beckon  and  to  lure  you  on. 
Even  those  who  had  been  for  a  long 
time  accustomed  to  this  enchanting 
region,  would  have  been  impressed  to- 
day with  its  exalted  beauty.  Grand 
old  Nature  is  a  woman,  and  has  her 
feminine  peculiarities ;  she  rejoices  in 
her  heaux  jours,  even  as  other  women. 

The  landscape  spread  out  at  the  feet 
of  those  two  monks  now  walking  in 
silent  contemplation  on  the  platform 
before  the  Cloister  of  Camens,  had 
truly  to-day  her  heau  jour,  and  spark- 
led and  glittered  in  undisturbed  re- 
pose. 

"  How  beautiful  is  the  world  !  "  said 
one,  folding  his  hands  piously,  and 
gazing  up  into  the  valley  ;  '•  created  by 
wisdom  and  love,  adapteil  to  our  ne- 
cessities and  enjoyments,  to  a  life  well- 
pleasing  to  God.  Look  now,  brother, 
at  the  imposing  majesty  of  that  moun- 
tain, and  at  the  lovely,  smiling  valley 
which  lies  at  its  feet.  There,  in  the 
little  village  of  Camens.  this  busy 
world  is  in  motion,  and  from  the  city 
of  Frankenstein  I  distinguish  the 
sound  of  the  bells  calling  to  early 
morning  prayer." 

"  That  is,  perhaps,  the  alarm-bell," 
said  the  second  monk ;  "  the  wind  is 
against  us;    we  could   not  hear  the 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT   AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


105 


touad  of  the  small  bells.  I  fear  that  is 
the  alarm-bell." 

"Why  should  the  Frankensteiners 
sound  the  alarm-bell,  Brother  Tobias  ? " 
Baid  his  companion,  -with  a  soft,  incred- 
alous  smile 

"  Why,  Brother  Anastasius,  because 
the  Austrians  have  possibly  sent  their 
advance  guard  to  Frankenstein,  The 
Frankensteiners  have  sworn  allegiance 
to  the  King  of  Prussia,  and  probably 
desire  to  keep  this  oath ;  they  sound 
the  alarm,  therefore,  to  call  the  lusty 
burghers  to  arms." 

"  And  do  you  truly  believe  that  the 
Austrians  are  so  near  us.  Brother  To- 
bias ? " 

"  I  do  not  believe — I  know  it.  Be- 
fore three  days  General  Count  Wallis 
will  enter  our  cloister  with  his  staff, 
and,  in  the  name  of  Maria  Theresa, 
command  us  to  take  the  oath." 

"  You  can  never  forget  that  we  were 
once  Austrians,  Brother  Tobias.  Your 
eyes  sparkle  when  you  think  that  the 
Austrians  are  coming,  and  you  forget 
that  his  excellency  the  Abbot  Stusche 
is,  with  his  whole  heart,  devoted  to 
the  King  of  Prussia,  and  that  he  Avill 
never  again  subject  himself  to  Austrian 
rule." 

"  He  will  be  forced  to  it.  Brother 
Anastasius.  The  star  of  the  Prussian 
king  has  declined ;  his  war  triumphs 
are  at  an  end;  God  has  turned  away 
His  face  from  him,  because  he  is  not  a 
true  Christian  ;  he  is,  indeed,  a  heathen 
and  an  infidel." 

"  Still,  still.  Brother  Tobias  !  If  the 
abbot  heard  you,  he  would  punish  you 
with  twenty  pater-nosters,  and  you 
know  very  well  that  praying  is  not  the 
business  of  your  choice." 

"  It  is  true ;  I  am  fonder  of  war  and 
politics.  I  can  never  forget  that  in  my 
youth  I  was  a  brave  soldier,  and  have 
more  than  once  shed  my  blood  for  Aus- 
tria. You  will  understand  now  why 
I  am  an  Austrian.    I  declare  to  you,  I 


would  cheerfully  say  thirty  pater-nostera 
every  day,  if  we  could  be  once  more 
subject  to  Austria." 

"  Well,  happily,  there  is  no  hope  of 
that." 

''  Happily,  there  is  great  hope  of  it. 
You  know  nothing  about  it.  You  read 
your  holy  2^i*iiycrs,  you  study  your 
learned  books,  and  take  but  little  inter- 
est in  the  outward  world.  I  know  all, 
hear  all,  take  part  in  all.  I  study  poli- 
tics and  the  world's  history,  as  dili- 
gently as  you  study  the  old  Fathers." 

"Well,  Brother  Tobias,  instruct  me 
a  little  in  your  studies.  You  are  right ; 
I  care  but  little  for  those  things,  and  I 
am  heartily  glad  of  it.  It  grieves  me 
to  hear  of  the  wrath  and  contentions 
of  men.  God  sent  us  into  the  world 
to  live  in  peace  and  love  with  one  an- 
other." 

"  If  that  be  so,  why  has  God  per- 
mitted us  to  discover  gunpowder?" 
said  Brother  Tobias,  whistling  merrily. 
"I  say  to  y(m  that  by  the  power  of 
gunpowder  and  the  naked  sword,  Si- 
lesia will  soon  be  in  possession  of  the 
faithful  believer  ^laria  Theresa.  Is  it 
not  manifest  that  God  is  with  her  ? 
The  devil  in  the  beginning,  with  the 
help  of  the  Prussian  king  and  his  wild 
army,  did  seem  more  powerful  than 
God  Himself?  Only  think  that  the 
gates  of  Breslau  were  opened  by  a 
box  on  the  ear !  that  the  year  before, 
Prague  was  taken  almost  without  a 
blow  I  It  seemed  indeed  like  child's 
play.  Frederick  was  in  possession  of 
almost  the  whole  of  Bohemia,  but  like 
a  besieged  and  suffering  garrison  he 
was  obliged  to  creep  away.  God  sent 
an  enemy  against  him  who  is  mora 
powerful  than  all  mortal  foes,  his  army 
was  perishing  with  hunger.  There  is 
no  difference  between  the  bravest  sol- 
dier and  the  little  maiden  when  they 
fall  into  the  hands  of  this  adversary 
Hunger  drove  the  victorious  King  of 
Prussia  out  of  Bohemia ;  hunger  ma^Q 


106 


BERLIN  AND   PANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


him  abandon  Silesia  and  seek  refuge  in 
Berlin.*  Oh,  I  assure  you,  we  will  soon 
cease  to  be  Prussians.  While  King 
Frederick  is  refreshing  and  amusing 
himself  in  Berlin,  the  Austrians  have 
entered  Glatz,  and  bring  us  greetings 
from  our  gracious  queen,  Maria  The- 
resa." 

"  If  the  King  of  Prussia  hears  of 
these  greetings,  he  will  answer  them 
by  cannon-balls !  " 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  Frederick 
of  Prussia  was  idling  away  in  Berlin, 
and  recovering  from  his  disastrous 
campaign  in  Bohemia  ?  The  Austrians 
will  have  taken  ])Osse3sion  of  all  Upper 
Silesia  before  the  king  and  his  soldiers 
have  satisfied  their  hunger.  I  tell  you, 
in  a  few  days  they  will  be  with  us." 

"  God  forbid  !  "  said  Brother  Anasta- 
eius ;  "  then  will  the  torch  of  war  burn 
anew,  and  misfortune  and  misery  will 
reign  again  throughout  Silesia," 

"  Yes,  that  is  true.  I  will  tell  you 
another  piece  of  news,  which  I  heard 
yesterday  in  Frankenstein ;  it  is  said 
that  the  King  of  Prussia  has  quietly 
left  Berlin  and  gone  himself  into  Si- 
lesia to  look  after  the  Austrians. 
Would  it  not  be  charniing  if  Freder- 
ick should  make  our  cloister  a  visit, 
just  as  General  Count  Wallis  and  his 
troops  entered  Camens  ?  " 

"And  you  would  call  that  charm- 
ing ? "  said  Brother  Anastasius,  with  a 
reproachful  look. 

"  Yes,  most  assuredly ;  the  king 
would  be  taken  prisoner,  and  the  war 
would  be  at  an  end.  You  may  rest 
assured  the  Austrians  would  not  give 
the  king  his  liberty  till  he  had  yielded 
up  Silesia  for  ransom." 

"  May  God  be  gracious,  and  guard 
us  from  war  and  pestilence ! "  mur- 
mured Brother  Anastasius,  folding  his 
hands  piously  in  prayer. 

The  thrice-repeated    stroke  of   the 


•  PreuEs'B  "  History  of  Frederick  the  Great." 


bell  in  the  cloister  interrupted  bis  de- 
votions, and  the  full,  round  face  oi 
Brother  Tobias  glowed  with  pleasing 
anticipations. 

"They  ring  for  breakfast,  Brother 
Anastasius,"  said  he ;  "  let  us  hasten 
before  Brother  Baptist,  who  is  ever  the 
first  at  the  table,  appropriates  the  best 
morsels  and  lays  them  on  his  plate. 
Come,  come,  brother;  after  breakfast 
we  will  go  into  the  garden  and  water 
our  flowers.  We  have  a  lovely  day 
and  ample  time — it  will  be  three  hours 
before  mass." 

"  Come,  then,  brother,  and  may  your 
dangerous  prophecies  and  expectations 
not  be  fulfilled!" 

The  two  monks  stepped  into  the 
cloister,  and  a  deep  and  unbroken  si- 
lence reigned  around,  interrupted  only 
by  the  sweet  songs  of  (he  birds  and  the 
light  movements  of  their  wings.  The 
building  was  in  the  noble  style  of  the 
middle  ages,  and  stood  out  in  grand 
and  harmonious  proportions  against 
the  deep  blue  of  the  horizon. 

It  was,  without  doubt,  to  observe  the 
beauty  and  grandeur  of  this  structure, 
that  two  travellers  who  had  toiled 
slowly  up  the  path  leading  from  the 
village  of  Camens,  now  paused  and 
looked  with  wondering  glances  at  the 
cloister. 

"There  must  be  a  splendid  view 
fiom  the  tower,"  said  the  oldest  and 
smaller  of  the  travellers  to  his  tall  and 
slender  companion,  who  was  gazing 
with  rapture  at  the  enchanting  land- 
scape. 

"  It  must  indeed  be  a  glorious  pros- 
pect," he  replied,  with  a  respectful 
bow.     -^ 

"It  affords  a  splendid  opportunity 
to  look  far  and  wide  over  the  land,  and 
to  see  if  the  Austrian  troops  are  really 
on  the  march,"  said  the  other,  with  a 
stern  and  somewhat  h  asty  tone.  "  Le* 
us  enter  and  ascend  the  tower.'' 

The  youth  bowed  silently,  and  fol 


fREDEKICK  THE  GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


107 


jowed,  at  some  little  distance,  the  hasty 
steps  of  his  companion.  They  reached 
the  platform,  and  stood  for  a  moment 
to  recover  breath. 

"We  have  reached  the  summit — if 
we  were  only  safely  down  again  !  " 

"  We  can  certainly  descend ;  the 
question  is,  under  what  circumstan- 
ces ? " 

"  You  mean,  whether  free  or  as  pris- 
oners? Well,  I  see  no  danger;  we 
are  completely  disguised,  and  no  one 
knows  me  here.  The  Abbot  Amandus 
is  dead,  and  the  new  abbot  is  unknown 
to  me.  Let  us  make  haste ;  ring  the 
bell." 

The  youth  was  in  the  act  of  obey- 
ing, when  suddenly  a  voice  cried  out : 
"Don't  sound  the  bell — I  will  come 
myself  and  open  the  door." 

A  man  had  been  standing  at  the  up- 
per story,  by  an  open  window,  and 
heard  the  conversation  of  the  two  trav- 
ellers. He  drew  in  his  head  hastily 
and  disappeared. 

"  It  seems  I  am  not  so  unknown  as  I 
supposed,"  said  the  smaller  of  the  two 
gentlemen,  with  a  quiet  smile. 

"Who  knows  whether  these  monks 
are  reliable  and  true  ? "  whisjiered  the 
other, 

"You  certainly  would  not  doubt 
these  exalted  servants  of  God?  I,  for 
my  part,  shall  believe  in  their  sincerity 
till  they  convince  me  of  the  contrary. 
Ah  !  the  door  is  opened." 

The  small  door  was  indeed  open,  and 
a  monk  came  out,  and  hastily  drew 
near  to  the  two  travellers. 

"  I  am  the  Abbot  Tobias  Stusche ;  I 
am  also  a  man  wholly  devoted  to  the 
King  of  Prussia,  though  he  does  not 
know  me." 

The  abbot  laid  such  a  peculiar  ex- 
pression upon  these  last  words,  that 
the  strangers  were  forced  to  remxrk 
them. 

"  Do  you  not  know  the  King  of  Prus- 
sia?"  said  the  elder,  fixing  his  eagle  eye 


upon  the  kindly  and  friendly  face  of  the 
abbot. 

"  I  know  the  king  when  he  does  not 
wish  to  be  incognito,''^  said  the  abbot, 
with  a  smile. 

"  If  the  king  were  here,  would  you 
counsel  him  to  remain  incognito  ?  " 

"  I  would  counsel  that ;  some  among 
my  monks  are  Austrians  in  sympathy, 
and  I  hear  the  Austrians  are  at  hand." 

"  ^ly  object  is  to  look  out  from  your 
town  after  the  Austrians.  Let  us  en- 
ter ;  show  us  the  way." 

The  abbot  said  nothing,  entered  the 
cloister  hastily,  and  cast  a  searching 
glance  in  every  direction. 

"They  are  all  yet  in  the  refectory, 
and  the  windows  open  upon  the  gar- 
den. But  no — there  is  Brother  Anas- 
tasius." 

It  was  truly  Brother  Auastasius,  who 
stood  at  the  window,  and  regarded 
them  with  astonished  and  sympathetic 
glances.  The  abbot  nodded  to  him 
and  laid  his  fore-finger  lightly  upon 
his  lips;  he  then  hastily  crossed  the 
threshold  of  the  little  door. 

The  stranger  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
shoulder  of  the  abbot,  and  said  sternly, 
"Did  you  not  give  a  sign  to  this 
monk  ? " 

"Yes,  the  sign  of  silence,"  answered 
the  abbot;  and  turning  back,  he 
looked  calmly  upon  the  strangers. 

"Let  us  go  onward."  And  with  a 
firm  step  they  entered  the  cloister. 


CHAPTER  XI, 

THE   KING   AXD   THE   ABBOT, 

Silently  they  passed  through  the 
lofty  halls  and  corridors,  which  re- 
sounded with  the  steps  of  the  strangers, 
and  reached  the  room  appropriated  to 
the  abbot.  As  they  entered,  and  the 
door    closed    behind    them,  shutting 


108 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


them  off  from  the  seeing  and  listening 
world,  the  face  of  the  abbot  assumed 
an  expression  of  the  most  profound  rev- 
erence and  emotion.  He  crossed  his 
hands  over  his  breast,  and  bo-wing  pro- 
foundly, he  said  :  "  Will  your  majesty 
allow  me  from  the  depths  jf  my  soul  to 
welcome  you  ?  In  the  i-ooms  of  the 
Abbot  Tobias  Stusche,  King  Frederick 
need  not  preserve  his  incognito.  Blessed 
be  your  entrance  into  my  house,  and 
may  your  departure  also  be  blessed  ! " 

The  king  smiled.  "  This  blessed 
conclusion,  I  suppose,  depends  entirely 
upon  your  excellency.  I  really  cannot 
say  what  danger  threatens  us.  It  cer- 
tainly was  not  my  intention  to  wander 
here :  to  stretch  out  my  reconnoissance 
to  such  a  distance.  But  what  would 
you,  sir  abbot  ?  I  am  not  only  a  king 
and  soldier,  but  I  am  a  man,  with 
eye  and  heart  open  to  tlie  beauties  of 
nature,  and  I  worship  God  in  Ilis 
works  of  creation.  Your  cloister  en- 
ticed me  with  its  beauty.  In  place  of 
mounting  my  horse  and  riding  back 
from  Frankenstein,  [  was  lured  hither 
to  admire  your  building  and  enjoy  the 
splendid  prospect  from  your  town. 
Allow  me  to  rest  awhile ;  give  me  a 
glass  of  wine,  and  then  we  will  mount 
the  tower." 

There  was  so  much  ofcalm,  bold  cour- 
age, so  much  of  proud  self-conscious- 
ness in  the  bearing  of  the  king,  that 
the  poor,  anxious  abbot  could  not  find 
courage  to  express  his  apprehensions. 
He  turned  and  looked  imploringly  at 
the  compani(m  of  the  king,  who  was 
no  other  than  the  young  officer  of  the 
life-guard,  Frederick  von  Trenck.  The 
youth  seemed  to  share  fully  the  care- 
less indifference  of  his  royal  master ; 
his  face  was  smiling,  and  he  did  not 
seem  to  understand  the  meaning  looks 
of  the  abbot. 

"  Will  youi  majesty  allow  me,  and 
me  alone,  to  have  the  honor  of  serving 
you  ? "  said    his    excellency.     *'  I  am 


jealous  of  the  great  happiness  'which 
Providence  has  accorded  me,  and  1  will 
not  divide  it  with  another,  not  even 
with  my  monks." 

Frederick  laughed  heartily.  "  Con- 
fess, your  excellency,  that  you  dare  not 
trust  your  monks.  You  do  not  know 
that  they  are  as  gof)d  Prussians  as  I 
have  happily  found  you  to  be?  Go, 
then,  if  it  is  agreeable  to  you,  and  with 
your  own  pious  hands  bring  me  a 
glass  of  wine,  I  need  not  say  good 
wine — you  cloistered  men  understand 
that." 

Frederick  leaned  back  comfortably 
in  his  arm-chair  and  conversed  cheer- 
fully, even  merrily,  with  his  young  ad- 
jutant and  the  worthy  abbot,  who 
hastened  here  and  there,  and  drew 
from  closets  and  hiding-places  wine, 
fruit,  and  other  rich  viands.  Tlie 
cloistered  stillness,  the  unbroken  quiet 
which  surrounded  him,  were  pleasing 
to  the  king ;  his  features  were  illumina- 
ted with  that  soft  and  at  the  same  time 
imposmg  smile  which  played  but  sel- 
dom upon  his  lips,  but  which,  like  the 
sun,  Avhen  it  appeared,  filled  all  hearts 
with  light  and  gladness.  Several 
hours  passed — ^hours  which  the  king 
did  not  seem  to  observe,  but  the  heart 
of  the  poor  abbot  was  trembling  with 
apprehension. 

"  And  now,"  said  the  king,  "  I  am 
rested,  refreshed,  and  strengthened. 
Win  your  excellency  conduct  me  to  the 
tower  ?  then  I  will  return  to  Franken- 
stein." 

"  Tliere  is  happily  a  way  to  the  tower 
for  my  use  alone,"  said  the  abbot, 
"  where  we  are  certain  to  be  met  by  no 
one.  I  demand  pardon,  sire,  the  way 
is  dark  and  winding,  and  we  must 
mount  many  small  steps." 

"  Well,  abbot,  it  resembles  the  way  to 
eternal  life;  from  the  power  of  darkness 
to  light;  from  the  path  of  sin  and  folly 
to  that  of  knowledge  and  true  wisdom. 
I  will  seek  after  thia  knowledge  froi» 


IiVederick  leaned  back  in  his  arm-chair  and  conversed  cheerfully,  even  merrily,  with  his 

young  adjutant  and  the  worthy  abbot.  P-  lOa 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


[09 


your  tower,  worthy  abbot.  Have  you 
my  field-glass,  Trenck  ? " 

The  adjutant  bowed,  silently ;  they 
passed  through  the  corridor  and  mount- 
ed the  steps,  reaching  at  last  the  plat- 
form at  the  top  of  the  tower. 

A  wondrous  prospect  burst  upon 
their  view ;  the  horizon  seemed  bounded 
by  majestic  mountains  of  porphyry — 
this  third  element  or  place  of  deposit 
of  the  enchanting  piimeval  earth,  out 
of  which  mighty  but  formless  mass  our 
living,  breathing,  and  beautiful  world 
sprang  into  creation,  and  the  stars  sang 
together  for  joy.  In  the  midst  of  these 
mountains  stood  "  the  Giant,"  with  his 
snow-crowned  point,  like  the  great 
finger  of  God,  reaching  up  into  the 
heavens,  and  contrasting  strangely  with 
the  lofty  but  round  green  summits  of 
the  range,  now  gilded  by  the  morning 
sun,  and  sparkling  in  changing  rays  of 
light. 

The  king  looked  upon  this  picture 
with  rapture ;  an  expression  of  prayer 
and  praise  was  written  upon  his  face. 
But  with  the  proud  reserve  which  ever 
belongs  to  those  who,  by  exalted  rank 
or  genius,  are  isolated  from  other  men, 
with  the  shrinking  of  a  great  soul,  the 
king  would  allow  no  one  to  witness  his 
emotion.  He  wished  to  be  alone,  alone 
with  Nature  and  Nature's  God  ;  he  dis- 
missed the  abbot  and  his  adjutant,  and 
commanded  them  to  wait  in  the  rooms 
below  for  him.  And  now,  convinced 
that  no  one  saw  or  heard  him,  the  king 
gave  himself  up  wholly  to  the  exalted 
and  pious  feelings  which  agitated  his 
BouL  With  glistening  eyes  he  gazed 
upon  the  enchanting  landscape,  which 
glowed  and  shimmered  in  the  dazzling 
sunshine. 

"  God,  God  ! "  said  he,  in  low  tones ; 
"  who  can  doubt  that  He  is,  and  that 
He  is  from  everlasting  to  everlasting  ? 
Who,  that  looks  upon  the  beauty,  the 
harmony,  and  order  of  creation,  can 
doubt  of  His   wisdom,   and  that  His 


goodness  is  over  all  His  woikr?*  O 
my  God,  I  worship  you  in  your  works 
of  creation  and  providence,  and  I  bow 
my  head  in  adoration  at  the  footstool 
of  your  divine  Majesty.  Why  cannot 
men  be  content  with  this  great,  mysteri- 
ous, exalted,  and  ever-during  church, 
with  which  God  has  surrounded  them  ? 
Why  can  they  not  worship  in  Nature's 
great  ca  hedral  ?  Why  do  they  confine 
themselves  to  churches  of  biick  aud 
mortar,  the  work  of  men's  hands,  and 
listen  to  their  hypocritical  priests,  ra- 
ther than  listen  to  and  worship  God  in 
His  beautiful  world  ?  They  cry  out 
against  me  and  call  me  an  infidel,  but 
my  heart  is  full  of  love  and  faith  in  my 
Creator,  and  I  worship  Him,  not  in 
priestly  words,  but  in  the  depths  of  my 
soul. " 

And  now  Frederick  cast  a  smiling 
greeting  to  the  lovely  phenomena 
which  lay  at  his  feet  His  thoughts 
had  been  wuth  God,  and  his  glance  up- 
ward; but  now  his  eyes  wandered  over 
the  perfumed  and  blooming  valley 
which  lay  in  the  depths  between  the 
mountains ;  he  numbered  the  little 
cities  and  villages,  with  their  red  roo& 
and  graceful  church-spires  ;  he  admired 
the  straw-thatched  huts  upon  whose 
highest  points  the  stork  had  built  her 
nest,  and  stood  by  it  in  observant  and 
majestic  composure. 

"  This  is  all  mine ;  I  won  it  with  my 
spear  and  bow.  It  is  mine,  and  I  will 
never  yield  it  up.  I  will  prove  to 
^laria  Theresa  that  what  was  good  to 
take  is  not  good  to  restore.  No,  no  ! 
Silesia  is  mine ;  my  honor,  my  pride, 
and  my  fame  demand  it  I  will  never 
give  it  up.  I  will  defend  it  with  rivers 
of  blood,  yes,  with  my  own  heart's 
blood ! " 

He  took  his  glass  and  looked  again 
over  the  luxurious  valley  ;  he  started 
and  fixed  his  glass  stsauily  upon  one 

*  The  king's  own  words.    "(Eavrespoathamei. 
page  162. 


110 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI ;     OR, 


point.  In  the  midst  of  the  smiling 
meadows  through  which  the  highway 
wound  like  a  graceful  stream,  he  saw  a 
curious,  glittering,  moving  mass.  At 
tlie  first  glance  it  looked  like  a  crowd 
of  creeping  ants;  it  soon,  however,  as- 
sumed larger  proportions,  and,  at  last, 
approaching  ever  nearer,  the  forms  of 
men  could  be  distinctly  seen,  and  now 
he  recognized  a  column  of  marching 
soldiers. 

"Austrians,"  said  the  king,  with 
calm  conijjosurc.  He  turned  his  glass 
in  the  other  direction,  where  a  road 
led  into  the  valley;  this  path  was  also 
filled  with  soldiers,  who,  by  rapid 
marches,  were  approaching  the  cloister. 
"Without  doubt  they  know  that  I  am 
here,"  said  the  king;  "they  have 
learned  this  in  the  village,  and  have 
come  to  take  me  prisoner.  Eh  lien, 
nous  terrons,^'' 

So  saying,  Frederick  put  his  glass  in 
his  pocket,  descended  the  step,  and  with 
cool  indifi'erence  entered  the  room  of 
the  abbot, 

"  Messieurs,"  said  he,  laughing  mer- 
rily, as  he  looked  at  the  good-natured 
and  unsuspicious  faces  of  the  wu)rthy 
abbot  and  the  young  officer,  "  we  must 
decide  upon  some  plan  of  defence,  for 
the  Austrians  drew  near  on  every  side 
of  the  cloister." 

"  Oh,  my  prophetic  soul !  "  murmured 
the  abbot,  folding  his  hands  in  prayer. 

Trenck  rushed  to  the  window  and 
looked  scarchingly  abroad.  At  this 
moment  a  loud  knock  was  heard  upon 
the  door,  and  an  anxious  voice  called 
to  the  al)bot. 

"  All  is  lost,  the  Austrians  are  already 
here!"  cried  Tobias  Stusche,  wringing 
his  hands  despairingly, 

"Ko!"  said  the  king,  "  they  cannot 
yet  have  reached  the  cloister,  and  that 
is  not  the  voice  of  a  soldier  who  com- 
mands, but  that  of  a  monk  who  prays, 
and  is  almost  deatl  with  terror ;  let  us 
open  the  dooi." 


"  O  my  God,  your  majesty !  would 
you  betray  yourself?"  cried  Stusche, 
and  forgetting  all  etiquette,  he  rushed 
to  the  king,  laid  his  hand  upon  his 
arm  and  held  him  back. 

"  No,"  said  the  king,  "  I  will  not  be- 
tray myself,  neither  will  I  conceal  my- 
self, I  will  meet  my  fate  with  my  face 
to  the  foe." 

"  Open,  open,  for  God's  sake  ! "  cried 
the  voice  without, 

"He  prays  in  God's  name,"  said  the 
king,  "I  will  open  the  door."  He 
crossed  the  room  and  drew  back  the 
bolt. 

And  now,  the  pale  and  anxious  face 
of  Brother  Anastasius  appeared.  He 
entered  hastily,  closed  and  fastened  the 
door. 

"Pardon,"  said  he,  trembling  and 
breathless — "pardon  that  I  have  dared 
to  enter.  The  danger  is  great ;  the 
Austrians  surround  the  cloister." 

"  Are  they  already  here  ? "  said  the 
king, 

"  No ;  but  they  have  sent  a  courier, 
who  commands  us  immediately  to  open 
all  the  doors  and  give  entrance  to  the 
soldiers  of  Maria  Theresa." 

"Have  they  given  a  reason  for  this 
command  ? " 

"Yes;  they  say  they  know  assuredly 
that  the  King  of  Prussia  is  concealed 
here,  and  they  come  to  search  the 
cloister," 

"  Have  3'ou  not  said  to  them,  that 
we  are  not  only  the  servants  of  God, 
but  the  seiTants  of  the  King  of  Prus- 
sia ?  Have  you  not  said  to  them  that 
the  doors  of  our  cloister  can  only  open 
to  Prussian  troops  ? " 

"Yes,  your  excellency,  I  told  the 
soldier  all  this,  but  he  laughed,  and 
said  the  pandours  m"  Colonel  voR 
Trenck  knew  how  to  obtain  an  en- 
trance." 

"  Ah  1  it  is  Trenck,  with  his  pan- 
dours," cried  the  king,  casting  a  search- 
I  ing  glance  at  Frederick  von  Trenck 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


ni 


who  st»>od  opposite,  with  pale  and 
tightly-compressed  lips ;  he  met  the 
eye  of  the  king  boldly,  however,  and 
looked  hiui  steadily  in  the  face. 

"  Is  Colonel  Trenck  your  relation  ?  " 
said  the  king,  hastily. 

"  Yes,  your  majesty ;  he  is  my  father's 
brother's  son,"  said  the  young  man, 
proudly. 

"  Ah !  I  see  you  have  a  clear  con- 
science," said  the  king,  laying  his  hand 
smilingly  upon  the  youth's  shoulder. 
"  But  tell  me,  worthy  abbot,  do  you 
know  any  way  to  rescue  us  from  this 
mouse-trap  ? " 

Tobias  did  not  reply  immediately ; 
he  stood  thoughtfully  with  his  arms 
folded,  then  raised  his  head  quickly, 
as  if  he  had  come  to  some  bold  con- 
clusion ;  energy  and  purpose  were  writ- 
ten in  his  face.  "  Will  your  majesty 
make  use  of  the  means  which  I  dare 
to  offer  you  ? '' 

"  Yes,  If  they  are  not  unworthy.  I 
owe  it  to  my  people  not  to  lay  upon 
them  the  Ijurden  of  my  ransom." 

"  Then  I  hope,  with  God's  help,  to 
serve  your  majesty."  He  turned  to  the 
monk,  and  said,  with  a  proud,  com- 
manding tone  :  "  Brother  Anastasius, 
listen  to  my  commands.  Go  immedi- 
ately to  Messner,  order  him  in  my 
name  to  call  all  the  brothers  to  high 
mass  in  the  choir  of  the  church ; 
threaten  him  with  my  wrath  and  the 
severest  punishment,  if  he  dares  to 
speak  to  one  of  the  brethren.  I  will 
prove  my  monks,  and  see  if  they  recog- 
nize that  obedience  is  the  first  duty  in 
a  cloister." 

'•  While  Messner  assembles  the 
priests,  shall  the  bell  sound  for  mass?" 

"  IlastGn,  Brother  Anastasius ;  in 
ten  minutes  we  must  be  all  in  the 
church." 

"And  you  expect  to  save  me  by 
celebrating  high  mass  ? "  said  Freder- 
ick, slu-ugging  his  shoulders. 

"Yea,  sire,  I  expect  it.    Will  your 


majesty  graciously  accompany  me   to 
my  dressing-room  ? " 


CHAPTER  Xn. 

THE    trKKNOWN    ABBOT. 

The  bell  continued  to  sound,  and  its 
silver  tones  echoed  in  the  lofty  halls 
and  corridors,  through  which  the 
priests,  in  their  superb  vestments  and 
holy  orders,  passed  onward  to  the 
church.  Surprise  and  wonder  were 
written  upon  every  face  ;  curious  ques- 
tions were  biuriing  upon  every  lip,  re- 
strained, however,  by  the  strong  habit 
of  obedience.  The  abbot  had  com- 
manded that  not  one  word  should  be 
exchanged  between  the  brethren.  The 
abbot  must  be  obeyed,  though  the 
monks  might  die  of  curiosity.  Silent- 
ly they  entered  the  church.  And  now 
the  bell  ceased  to  toll,  and  the  grjmd 
old  organ  filled  the  church  with  a  rich 
stream  of  harmony.  Suddenly  the 
notes  were  soft  and  touching,  and  the 
strong,  full  voices  of  men  rose  high 
above  them. 

While  the  organ  swelled,  and  the 
church  resounded  with  songs  of  prayer 
and  praise,  the  Abbot  Tobias  Stusche 
entered  the  great  door.  But  this  time 
he  was  not,  as  usual,  aloue.  Another 
abbot,  in  the  richly-embroidered  habili- 
ments of  a  fete  day,  stood  by  his  side. 
No  one  had  ever  seen  this  abbot.  He 
was  wholly  unknown. 

Every  eye  was  turned  upon  him 
every  one  was  struck  with  the  com- 
manding and  noble  countenance,  with 
the  imposing  brow  and  luminous  eye, 
which  cast  searching  and  threatening 
glances  in  every  direction.  All  felt 
that  something  strange,  unheard  of, 
was  passing  in  their  midst.  They 
knew  this  stranger,  glowing  with 
youth,  beauty,  and  majesty,  was  na 
common  priest,  no  humble  brother. 


112 


BERLIN   AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


The  command  to  strict  silence  liad 
been  given,  and  implicit  obedience  is 
the  first  duty  of  the  cloister.  So  they 
were  silent,  sang,  and  prayed ;  while 
Tobias  Sfcusche,  with  the  strange  abbot, 
swept  slowly  and  solemnly  through  the 
aisles  up  to  the  altar.  They  both  fell 
upon  their  knees  and  folded  theii* 
hands  in  silent  prayer. 

Again  the  organ  swelled,  and  the 
voices  of  the  choristers  rose  up  in 
adoration  and  praise ;  but  every  eye 
and  every  thought  were  fixed  upon  the 
strange  abbot  kneeling  before  the  high 
altar,  and  wrestling  with  God  in  prayer. 
And  now  the  organ  was  silent,  and  the 
low  prayers  began.  The  monks  mur- 
mured mechanically  the  accustomed 
words ;  nothing  was  heard  but  sighs  of 
penitence  and  trembling  petitions,which 
seemed  to  fade  and  die  away  amongst 
the  lofty  pillars  of  the  cathedral. 

Suddenly  a  loud  noise  was  heard 
without,  the  sound  of  pistols  and 
threatening  voices  demanding  admit- 
tance. No  one  regarded  this.  The 
church  doors  were  violently  thrown 
open,  and  wild,  rude  forms,  snnbrowned 
and  threatening  faces  appeared.  For 
one  moment  noisy  tumult  and  outcry 
filled  the  church,  but  it  was  silenced 
by  the  holy  service,  now  celebrated  by 
these  kneeling,  praying  monks,  who 
held  their  beads  in  their  hands,  and 
gave  no  glance,  in  token  of  interest  or 
consciousness,  toward  the  wild  men 
who  had  so  insolently  interrupted  the 
worship  of  God.  The  soldiers  bowed 
their  heads  humbly  upon  their  breasts, 
and  prayed  for  pardon  and  grace. 
This  holy  duty  being  fulfilled,  they  re- 
membered their  worldly  calling,  and 
commenced  to  search  the  church  for 
the  King  of  Prussia,  whom  they  be- 
lieved to  be  hidden  there.  The  clang 
of  spurs  and  heavy  steps  resounded 
through  the  aisles,  and  completely 
drowned  the  prayers  and  sighs  of  the 
monks,  who,  kneeling  upon  their  stools, 


seemed  to  have  no  eye  or  thought  for 
any  thing  but  the  solemn  service  in 
which  they  were  engaged. 

The  pandours,  in  their  dark,  artistic 
costumes,  with  the  red  mantle  fastened 
to  their  shoulders,  swarmed  through 
the  church,  and  with  flashing  eyes  and 
scarcely  suppressed  curses  searched  in 
every  niche  and  behind  every  pillar  foi 
Frederick  of  Prussia,  How  often  did 
these  wild  forms  pass  by  the  two  ab 
bots,  who  were  still  kneeling,  immova 
ble  in  rapturous  meditation,  before 
the  high  altar !  How  often  did  their 
swords  strike  upon  the  floor  behind 
them,  and  even  fasten  in  the  vestment 
of  the  strange  abbot,  who,  with  closed 
eyes  and  head  bowed  down  upon  his 
breast,  had  no  knowledge  of  their  pres- 
ence! 

The  prayers  had  continued  much 
longer  than  usual,  and  yet  the  abbot 
did  not  pronounce  the  benediction ! 
And  now  he  did  indeed  give  a  sign, 
but  not  the  one  expected.  He  rose 
from  his  knees,  but  did  not  leave  the 
church ;  with  his  companion,  he  mount- 
ed the  steps  to  the  altar,  to  draw  near 
to  the  holy  crucifix  and  bless  the  host. 
He  nodded  to  the  choir,  and  again  the 
organ  and  the  choristers  filled  the 
church  with  melody. 

This  was  something  so  extraordinary 
that  the  monks  turned  pale,  and  ques- 
tioned their  consciences  anxiously. 
Had  they  not  committed  some  great 
crime,  for  which  their  stern  abbot  was 
resolved  to  punish  them  with  everlast- 
ing i)rayer  and  penitence  ?  The  pan- 
dours knew  nothing  of  this  double 
mass.  They  had  now  searched  the 
whole  church,  and  as  the  king  was  not 
to  be  found,  they  rushed  out  in  order 
to  search  the  cells,  and,  indeed,  every 
corner  of  the  cloister.  Tlie  service  still 
continued ;  the  unknown  abbot  stood 
before  the  high  altar,  while  Abbot 
Stusche  took  the  host  and  held  it  up 
before  the  kneeling  monks. 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


113 


At  this  moment  a  wild  cry  of  tri- 
amph  was  heard  without ;  then  curses 
and  loud  hiughter.  The  monks  were 
bowed  down  before  the  host,  and  did 
not  seem  to  hear  the  tumult.  They 
sang  and  prayed,  and  now  the  outcry 
and  noise  of  strite  was  hushed,  and 
nothing  was  heard  but  the  faint  and 
dying  tones  of  the  organ.  The  pan- 
dours  had  left  the  cloister ;  they  had 
found  the  adjutant  of  the  king  and 
borne  him  off  as  a  rich  spoil  to  their 
commander,  Colonel  von  Trenck. 

The  soldiers  were  gone,  it  was  there- 
fore not  necessary  to  continue  the  wor- 
ship of  God.  Tobias  Stusche  repeated 
a  pater-noster,  gave  his  hand  to  the 
unknown  abbot,  and  they  turned  to 
leave  the  church.  As  they  slowly  and 
majestically  swept  through  the  aisles, 
the  monks  bowed  their  heads  in  rever- 
ence ;  the  organ  breathed  its  last  grand 
accord,  and  the  glorious  sun  threw  a 
beckoning  love-greeting  through  the 
lofty  windows  of  painted  glass.  It 
was  a  striking  and  solemn  scene,  and 
the  unknown  abbot  seemed  strangely 
impressed.  He  paused  at  the  door  and 
turned  once  more,  and  his  glance  wan- 
dered slowly  over  the  church. 

One  hour  later  the  heavy  state-coach 
of  the  Abbot  of  Clostenberg  rolled 
down  from  Camens.  In  the  coach  sat 
Tobias  Stusche  with  the  tmknown  ab- 
bot. They  took  the  road  to  Franken- 
stein. Not  f<xT  from  the  gate  the  car- 
riage stopped,  and  to  the  amazement 
of  the  coachman,  no  abbot,  but  a  sol- 
dier clad  in  the  well-known  Prussian 
uniform,  descended.  After  leaving  the 
coach,  he  turned  again  and  bowed  to 
the  worthy  Abbot  Stusche. 

''  I  will  never  foi'get  this  bold  and 
noble  act  of  your  excellency,"  said  the 
king,  giving  his  hand  to  the  abbot. 
"  You  and  your  cloister  may  at  all 
times  count  upon  my  special  favor. 
But  for  your  aid,  I  should  this  day 
have  been  betrayed  into  a  most  unwor- 
8 


thy  and  shameful  imprisonment.  The 
first  rich  abbey  which  is  vacant  I  will 
give  to  you,  and  then  in  all  future  time 
I  will  confirm  the  choice  of  abbot, 
which  the  monks  themselves  shall 
make."  * 

"  O  my  God  !  "  exclaimed  the  abbot, 
"  how  rarely  must  your  majesty  have 
met  with  honest  and  faithful  men,  if 
you  reward  so  richly  a  simple  and 
most  natural  act  of  love  ! " 

"  Faithful  hearts  are  rare,"  said  the 
king.  "I  have  met  this  blue-ej'ed 
daughter  of  Heaven  but  seldom  upon 
my  path,  and  it  is  perhaps  for  this  rea- 
son that  her  grandeur  and  her  beauty 
are  so  enchanting  to  me.  Farewell,  sir 
abbot,  and  greet  the  brother  Anastasius 
for  me." 

"Will  not  your  majesty  allow  me  to 
accompany  you  to  the  city  ?  " 

"  No,  it  is  better  that  I  go  on  foot. 
In  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  I  shall  be 
there  ;  my  carriage  and  my  guard 
await  me,  and  I  wish  no  one  to  be  ac- 
quainted with  the  adventures  of  this 
day.  It  remains  a  secret  between  us 
for  the  present." 

Frederick  greeted  him  once  more, 
and  then  stepped  lightly  on  toward  the 
city.  The  coach  of  the  abbot  returned 
slowly  to  the  cloister. 

The  king  had  advanced  but  a  short 
distance,  when  the  sound  of  an  ap- 
proaching horse  met  his  ear.     He  stood 

•  In  gratitude  for  this  service,  the  king  gave  the 
rich  Abbey  of  Sentus  to  Stusche,  and  kept  np  with 
him  always  the  kindest  interconrse.  There  are 
letters  still  preserved  written  by  the  king  him- 
self to  the  abbot,  filled  with  expressions  ot  heart- 
felt kindness  and  favor.  Frederick  sent  him  from 
Meissen  a  beautiful  set  of  porcelain,  and  splendid 
stuff  for  pontifical  robes,  and  rare  champagne 
wine.  While  in  Breslau,  he  Invited  him  twice  to 
visit  him.  Soon  after  the  close  of  the  Seven  Years' 
War.  Stusche  died.  The  king  sent  a  royal  present 
to  the  cloister,  with  a  request  that  on  the  birthday 
of  the  abbot  a  solemn  mass  should  be  celebrated. 
Some  years  later,  Frederick  stopped  at  Camens, 
and  told  the  abbot  to  commission  the  first  monk 
who  died  to  bear  his  loving  greeting  to  the  good 
Abbot  Stusche  in  Paradise."— (See  Kodenbcck.) 


114 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


still  and  looked  down  the  highway. 
This  time  the  Austrian  uniform  did  not 
meet  his  eye  ;  he  recognized  in  the  dis- 
tance the  Prussian  colors,  and  as  the 
horse  approached  nearer,  he  marked 
the  uniform  of  a  young  officer  of  his 
life-guard.  Before  Frederick  found 
time  for  surprise,  the  rider  had  reached 
him,  checked  his  horse  with  a  strong 
hand,  sprang  from  the  saddle,  bowed 
profoundly  before  the  king,  and 
reached  him  the  reins. 

"  Will  not  your  majesty  do  me  the 
f;xvor  to  mount  my  horse  ? "  said 
Trenck,  calm  and  unembarrassed,  and 
without  alluding  by  word  or  smile  to 
the  adventure  of  the  day. 

The  king  looked  at  him  searchingly. 
"  From  whence  come  you  ? "  said  he 
sternly. 

"From  Glatz,  where  the  jjandours 
canied  me  as  a  prisoner,  and  delivered 
me  to  Colonel  Trenck." 

"  You  were  then  a  prisoner,  and  were 
released  without  ransom  ?  " 

"Colonel  Trenck  laughed  merrily 
when  his  pandours  delivered  me  to  him, 
and  declared  I  was  the  King  of  Prus- 
sia." 

"  Colonel  Trenck  knows  you  ? " 

"  Sire,  I  saw  him  often  in  my  father's 
house." 

"  Go  on :  he  recognized  you,  then  ?  " 

"  He  knew  me,  and  said  laughingly, 
he  had  sent  to  take  Frederick,  King  of 
Prussia,  and  not  Frederick  von  Trenck, 
prisoner.  I  was  free,  I  might  go  where 
T  wished,  and  as  I  could  not  go  on  foot, 
he  presented  me  with  one  of  his  best 
horses;  and  now  I  am  here,  will  not 
your  majesty  do  me  the  honor  to  mount 
this  horse  ? " 

i  "  I  mount  no  Austrian  horse,"  said 
the  king  in  a  harsh  tone. 

The  young  officer  fixed  his  glance 
for  one  moment,  with  an  expression  of 
regret,  upon  the  proud  and  noble  ani- 
mal, who  with  dilating  nostrils,  flash- 
ing eyes,  and  impatient  stamping  of  the 


fore-feet,  stood  by  his  side,  arching 
gracefully  his  finely-formed  and  mus- 
cular throat.  But  this  expression  of 
regret  soon  vanished.  He  let  go  the 
bridle  and  bowing  to  the  king  he  said, 
"I  am  at  your  majesty's  command." 

The  king  glanced  backward  at  the 
noble  steed,  who,  slender  and  graceful 
and  swift  as  a  gazelle,  was  in  a  moment 
so  far  distant  as  to  be  no  larger  than  a 
flying  eagle.  He  then  advanced  tow- 
ard Frankenstein ;  both  were  silent ; 
neither  gave  another  thought  to  the 
gallant  horse,  who.  riderless  and  guided 
by  instinct  alone,  was  far  on  the  way  to 
Glatz.  Once  before  they  reached  the 
city,  the  king  turned  and  fixed  his  eyes 
upon  the  open,  youthful,  and  handsome 
face  of  Trenck. 

"  I  believe  it  would  be  better  for  you 
if  this  colonel  of  pandours  were  not 
your  relation,"  said  the  king,  thought- 
fully; "there  can  no  good  come  of  you 
from  this  source,  but  only  evil." 

Frederick  von  Trenck  turned  pale. 
"Does  your  majesty  command  that  I 
shall  change  my  name  ?  " 

"No,"  said  the  king  after  a  mo- 
ment's reflection.  "  The  name  is  a  holy 
inheritance  which  is  handed  down 
from  our  fathers,  and  it  should  not  be 
lightly  cast  away.  But  be  careful,  be 
careful  in  every  particular.  Under- 
stand my  words,  and  think  upon  my 
warning.  Baron  von  Trenck." 


CHAPTER  Xni. 

THE  LEVEE   OP   A  DANCE  K. 

In  Behren  Street,  which  was  at  that 
time  one  of  the  most  recherche  and 
beautiful  streets  of  Berlin,  order  and 
quiet  generally  reigned.  To-day,  how^ 
ever,  an  extraordinary  activity  pre- 
vailed   in    this   aristocratic    locality 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


115 


splendid  equipages  and  gallant  riders, 
ibllowed  by  their  attendants,  dashed 
oy ;  all  seemed  to  have  the  same  ob- 
ject ;  all  drew  up  before  the  large  and 
elegant  mansion  which  had  for  some 
time  been  the  centre  of  attraction  to  all 
the  courtly  cavaliers  of  the  Prussian 
capital.  Some  of  the  royal  princes,  the 
young  Duke  of  Wurtemberg,  counts, 
ambassadors,  and  generals,  were  to-day 
entreating  an  audience. 

Who  dwelt  in  this  house  ?  What  dis- 
tinguished person  was  honored  by  all 
these  marks  of  consideration  ?  Wliy 
was  every  face  thoughtful  and  earnest  ? 
Was  this  a  funeral,  and  was  this  general 
gloom  the  expression  of  the  heart's 
despair  at  the  thought  of  the  loved  and 
lost  ?  Perhaps  the  case  was  not  quite 
so  hopeless.  It  might  be  that  a  prince 
or  other  eminent  person  was  danger- 
ously ill !  "  It  must  be  a  man,"  as  no 
woman  was  seen  in  this  grand  caval- 
cade. But  how  account  for  those  rare 
and  perfumed  flowers?  Does  a  man 
visit  his  sick  friend  with  bouquets  of 
roses  and  violets  and  orange-blossoms  ? 
with  rare  and  costly  southern  fruits 
in  baskets  of  gold  and  silver  ?  This 
would  indeed  be  a  strange  custom  ! 

But  no  !  In  this. house  dwelt  neither 
prince  nor  statesman,  only  a  woman. 
How  strange  that  only  men  were  there 
to  manifest  their  sympathy  1  In  this 
pitiful  and  dreary  world  a  woman  who 
has  made  a  name  for  herself  by  her  own 
beauty  and  talent  is  never  acknowl- 
edged by  other  women.  Those  who 
owe  their  rank  to  their  fathei-s  and 
husbands,  are  proud  of  this  accidental 
favor  of  fate;  they  consider  themselves 
as  the  chosen  accomplices  and  judges 
of  morals  and  virtue,  and  cast  out  from 
their  circles  all  those  who  dare  to  ele- 
vate themselves  above  mediocrity.  In 
this  house  dwelt  an  artiste  —  the  wor- 
shipped prima  donna,  the  Signora  Bar- 
Darina ! 

Barbarina !  ah  !  that  was  an  adored 


and  a  hated  name.  The  women  spoke 
of  her  with  frowning  brows  and  con- 
temptuous laughter,  the  men  with 
flashing  eyes  and  boundless  enthusiasm ; 
the  one  despised  and  abhorred  her,  even 
as  the  other  exalted  and  adored  her. 
And  truly  both  had  cause :  the  wo- 
men hated  her  because  she  stole  from 
them  the  eyes  and  hearts  of  their  lov- 
ers and  husbands;  the  men  worshipped 
her  as  a  blossom  of  beauty,  a  fairy 
wonder,  a  consecrated  divinity. 

These  two  parties  were  as  zealous  as 
the  advocates  of  the  white  and  red 
rose.  The  women  fought  under  the 
banner  of  the  faded,  withered  white 
rose ;  the  men  gathered  around  the  flag 
of  her  glowing  sister,  the  enchanting 
Barbarina.  This  was  no  equal  contest, 
no  doubtful  result.  The  red  rose  must 
conquer.  At  the  head  of  her  army 
stood  the  greatest  of  warnors.  The 
king  was  at  the  same  time  Barbarian's 
general  and  subject.  The  white  rose 
must  yield,  she  had  no  leader. 

Possibly  Elizabeth  Christine  desired 
to  lead  the  army  of  martyrs ;  possibly 
the  same  rage  and  scorn  swelled  in  her 
heart  which  spoiled  the  peace  of  other 
women.  But  her  modest  and  trembling 
lips  betrayed  nothing  of  the  secret 
storms  of  her  bosom ;  her  soft  and  gen- 
tle smile  veiled  her  shrouded  wishes 
and  the  hopes  there  buried  in  her 
heart.  One  could  scarcely  believe  that 
this  timid,  pious  queen  could  worship 
an  earthly  object,  or  yield  herself  one 
moment  to  the  base  passion  of  hate. 
Truly  Elizabeth  Christine  hated  no  one, 
not  even  Barbarina — this  woman  who 
had  given  the  last  blow  to  her  tortured 
heart,  and  added  the  passion  of  jeal- 
ousy to  her  despised  love.  Elizabeth 
Christine  was  indeed  jealous,  but  not 
in  the  common  way  ;  she  felt  no  scorn, 
she  uttered  no  reproach ;  sUent  tears 
and  earnest  prayers  for  strength  were 
her  only  speech. 

The  king  had  given  her  no  f^ccasion 


116 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


to  complain  of  his  love  for  Barbarina ; 
she  did  not  know  that  he  had  ever  ap- 
proached her,  even  spoken  to  her ;  she 
knew,  however,  with  what  looks  and 
smiles  of  rapture  he  gazed  upon  her, 
and  she  would  joyfully  have  given  her 
life  for  one  such  glance  or  smile. 
That,  however,  which  was  not  known 
to  Elizabeth,  was  fully  understood  by 
the  whole  court.  It  was  known  that 
more  than  once  the  Barbarina  had 
Bupped  with  the  king  at  the  house  of 
General  Rothenberg ;  it  was  known 
that  the  king,  every  time  the  Barba- 
rina danced,  was  behind  the  curtain, 
and  that  he  had  commanded  the  court 
painter,  Pesne,  to  paint  her  portrait, 
life-size,  for  him. 

Was  not  this  enough  to  exalt  the 
signora  in  the  eyes  of  every  courtier 
and  every  diplomatist  to  the  first  rank 
of  beauty  and  power?  "Would  they 
not,  indeed,  have  hastened  to  acknowl- 
edge lier  claims  even  had  she  not  been 
the  loveliest  and  most  enchanting  crea- 
ture ?  She  was  indeed  a  queen,  a  pow- 
erful enchantress.  Men  struggle  for 
one  smile,  one  glance ;  they  bow  down 
to  all  her  caprices  and  humors;  wor- 
sMp,  submission,  and  obedience  were 
the  tribute  brought  by  all.  Her  house 
was  besieged  with  visits  and  petitions 
as  if  it  were  the  palace  of  a  fairy  queen. 
Barbarina  had  her  court  circle,  her 
levees,  her  retinue.*  All  her  subjects 
rendered  her  a  glad  and  voluntary  ser- 
vice, and  received  no  other  compensa- 
tion than  a  gay  smile  or  friendly  word. 

All  this  splendor,  consideration,  and 
worship,  of  which  she  was  the  shining 
centre,  seemed  to  make  no  impression 
upon  the  heart  of  the  proud  and  self- 
reliant  artiste ;  she  was  accustomed  to 
t,  and  moved  on  in  silent  majesty ;  her 
whole  life  had  been  a  triumphant 
march.  Like  a  summer  morning  glit- 
tering in  the  dew  and  sunshine,  she 


♦  Schneider,  "  History  of  the  Opera  and  Opera- 
Qousee  in  Berlin.'" 


had  had  her  little  griefs  and  tesr?.  jut 
they  resembled  the  dew-drops  in  the 
flower-cups,  shining  for  a  moment  like 
costly  diamonds,  then  kissed  away  by 
the  sun.  Barbarina  wept  when  the 
king  separated  her  from  her  lover, 
Lord  Stuart,  and  forced  her  to  fulfil 
her  contract  and  come  to  Berlin.  She 
wept  no  more.  Was  it  because  she 
was  too  proud  ?  or  had  the  sun  ol 
royal  favor  kissed  away  her  tears  ? 

Barbarina's  tears  had  ceased  to  flow, 
but  she  smiled  rarely.  She  had  the 
grace  and  imposing  beauty  of  the  Ro- 
man, and  never  forgot  that  she  was  a 
daughter  of  that  proud  nation  who 
had  ruled  the  world,  and,  even  though 
disenthroned,  preserved  her  majesty 
and  renown.  Barbarina  was  a  glow- 
ing, passionate  woman,  and  passion 
adorns  itself  with  flashing  eyes,  with  a 
clear  and  touching  pallor  and  crimson 
lips,  but  never  with  the  innocent  smile 
and  harmless  jest.  She  was  nevei 
heard  and  rarely  seen  to  laugh.  Laugh- 
ter was  not  in  harmony  with  her  proud 
beauty,  but  smiles  illuminated  and 
glorified  it.  She  was  imperial  to  look 
upon;  but,  filled  with  all  sweet  char- 
ity and  gentle  grace,  womanly  and  ten- 
der ;  with  a  full  consciousness  of  hei 
power,  she  was  humble  and  yielding. 
In  the  midst  of  her  humility  she  was 
proud,  and  sure  of  success  and  victory ; 
one  moment  she  was  the  glowing,  ar- 
dent, and  yielding  woman;  the  next 
the  proud,  genial,  imposing  artiste. 
Such  was  Barbarina ;  an  incomprehen- 
sible riddle,  unsearchable,  unfathom- 
able as  the  sea — ever  changing,  but 
great  in  every  aspect. 

Barbarina  had  appeared  the  evening 
before,  but  her  dance  had  been  inter- 
rupted by  a  sudden  indisposition  ex- 
actly at  the  moment  when  the  king 
appeared  in  the  opera-house.  No  one 
knew  that  the  king  had  returned  from 
his  mysterious  journey  to  Silesia ;  every 
one  believed  him  to  be  absent,  and  tlK 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT   AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


m 


jallet  had  been  arranged  without  any 
reference  to  him.  Frederick  arrived 
unexpectedly,  and  changing  his  travel- 
ling-dress liastened  to  the  opera,  no 
doubt  to  greet  the  two  queens  and  his 
sisters.  Barbarina  was  seized  with  in- 
disposition at  the  moment  of  the  king's 
entrance.  She  floated  smilingly  and 
airily  over  the  stage;  her  small  feet 
seemed  borne  by  the  Loves  and  Graces. 
Suddenly  she  faltered,  the  smile  van- 
ished from  her  lips,  and  the  slight 
blush  from  her  cheek,  and  with  a  cry  of 
pain  she  sank  insensible  ujwn  the  floor. 

The  curtain  fell,  and  an  intermission 
of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  was  announced. 
The  king,  who  was  conversing  with  the 
queen-mother,  appeared  to  take  but 
little  interest  in  this  interruption,  but 
Baron  Swartz  approached  and  an- 
nounced that  Signora  Barbarina  was 
ill  and  could  not  appear  again  during 
the  evening.  Frederick  gave  such  an 
angry  exclamation,  that  the  queen- 
mother  looked  up  astonished  and  ques- 
tioning. Elizabeth  Christine  sighed 
and  tmTied  pale.  She  comprehended 
the  emotion  of  her  husband;  guided 
by  the  instinct  of  jealousy,  she  read 
the  king's  alarm  and  disappointment, 
which  he  tried  in  vain  to  hide  under 
the  mask  of  scorn. 

"It  appears  to  me,"  said  the  king, 
"that  the  signora  is  again  indulging 
in  one  of  her  proud  and  sullen  moods, 
and  refuses  to  dance  because  I  have  re- 
turned. I  will  not  submit  to  this  ca- 
price ;  I  will  myself  command  her  to 
dance." 

He  bowed  to  the  two  queens,  stepped 
behind  the  curtain,  and  advanced  to 
the  boudoir  of  the  signora.  The  door 
was  fastened  witliin.  The  king  stood 
hesitating  for  a  moment ;  he  heard  the 
sound  of  weeping  and  sobbing — the 
gignora  was  in  bitter  pain  or  sorrow. 

"  She  is  truly  ill,"  said  he. 

"  She  has  cramp,"  suggested  Baron 
3wartz,  who  had  followed  the  king. 


Frederick  turned  hastily.  "  Is  that 
dangerous  ? "  he  asked,  in  a  tone  which 
betrayed  his  alarm  and  agitation. 

"  Not  dangerous,  sire,  but  the  physi- 
cian who  was  with  her  has  declared 
that  absolute  quiet  was  necessary.  Will 
your  majesty  command  that  another 
dancer  shall  take  her  place  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Frederick ;  "  the  pas 
which  belongs  to  Barbarina  shall  be 
danced  by  no  other.  Salimberri  and 
Astrea  shall  sing  an  aria  and  the  house 
be  dismissed.  Go  to  their  majesties 
and  say  to  them  I  pray  they  will  ex- 
cuse me ;  I  only  came  to  greet  them, 
and,  being  much  fatigued  by  my  jour- 
ney, I  will  now  retire." 

Bowing  to  the  baron,  the  king  left 
the  opera-house  and  entered  the  pal- 
ace. But  in  the  silence  of  the  night, 
when  all  others  slept,  the  soft  tones  of 
his  flute  melted  on  the  air. 

Barbarina  was  ill.  For  this  reason 
her  house  was  besieged ;  for  this  rea- 
son every  face  was  clouded.  Her 
adorers  were  there  begging  to  see  her, 
and  thus  find  comfort  and  encourage- 
ment; each  one  wished  to  prove  his 
sympathy  by  some  marked  attention. 
They  hoped  that  these  glorious  and 
costly  fruits  might  win  for  them  a 
smile  of  gratitude. 

The  reception-room  of  Barbarina 
was  like  a  royal  conservatory,  only  the 
life-giving  and  dazzling  sun  was  hid- 
den from  view.  Barbarina  was  in  her 
boudoir,  and  all  these  gallant  cavaliers 
waited  in  vain  for  her  appearance.  It 
was  the  hour  of  her  levee,  the  hour 
when  her  door  was  open  to  all  who 
had  enjoyed  the  honor  of  being  pre- 
sented to  her.  The  courtiers  stood  in 
groups  and  conversed  in  light  whispers 
over  the  on-dits  of  the  day.  and  turn- 
ing their  eyes  from  time  to  time  to  the 
portiere  of  purple  velvet  which  sepa- 
rated them  from  the  boudoir  of  the 
signora;  from  that  point  must  the  sun 
rise  to  illuminate  thin  dusky  room. 


118 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


But  Barbarina  came  not.  She  lay 
apon  a  wliite  silk  divan,  dressed  in  the 
most  ravishing  neglige  of  white  mus- 
lin, covered  with  rare  and  costly  lace. 
She  was  dreaming  with  open  eyes,  and 
arms  crossed  upon  her  breast.  Those 
flashing  eyes  were  soft  and  misty;  a 
melancholy  expression  trembled  upon 
her  lips.  Barbarina  was  alone.  Why 
should  she  not  dream,  and  lay  aside  for 
awhile  her  gracious  smiles  and  fiery 
glance?  Of  what  were  those  unfath- 
omable eyes  dreaming  ?  what  signified 
those  sighs  which  burst  from  her  full 
crimson  lips  ?  Did  she  know  herself, 
or  did  she  wish  to  know  ?  Did  she 
comprehend  the  weakness  of  her  own 
proud  heart,  or  had  she  veiled  it  from 
herself,  ashamed  to  read  what  was 
written  there  ? 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened, 
and  a  young  girl  entered — one  of  those 
insignificant,  gentle,  yielding  creatures, 
generally  found  amongst  the  attendants 
of  an  artiste — a  Mte  de  souffrance,  on 
whom  they  exhaust  their  humor,  their 
scorn,  and  their  passion ;  the  humble 
companion,  kept  in  the  background 
when  blessed  with  the  society  of  distin- 
guished and  wealthy  adorers.  The 
companion  of  Barbarina  did  not  suf- 
fer, however,  from  this  hard  fate.  She 
was  Barbarina's  sister,  and  had  fol- 
lowed her  from  tender  love  to  the  cold 
north.  The  signora  loved  her  sister 
fondly ;  she  was  the  companion  of  her 
joj-s  and  sorrows ;  she  had  no  secrets 
fi-om  her,  and  knew  that  an  open  ear 
and  judicious  counsel  were  always  to  be 
found  with  her  little  sister  Marietta. 

Barbarina  lay,  still  dreaming,  upon 
the  divan.  Possibly  she  did  not  know 
that  Marietta  stood  by  her  side,  and 
laid  her  hand  upon  her  shoulder, 

"  Sorella."  said  she,  "  get  up ;  many 
gentlemen  are  in  the  saloon,  waiting 
for  you." 

"  Let  them  wait  I  will  see  nc  one 
to  day." 


"  It  is  the  hour  when  you  are  accus 
tomed  to  receive,  Sorella,  and  if  you  do 
not  come  they  will  think  you  are  still 
unwell." 

"  Well,  let  them  think  so." 

"  They  will  not  only  thiuk  so,  Sorel- 
la; they  will  say  so,  and  make  mali- 
cious comments." 

"  What  comments  ?  "  said  Barbarina, 
raising  herself  up  ;  "what  comments, 
Marietta  ?  " 

"  It  was  indeed  unfortunate  that 
your  sickness  came  upon  you  just  as 
the  king  appeared,"  said  Marietta. 

Barbarina's  eyes  flashed.  "  Do  you 
think  they  will  put  those  things  to- 
gether?" said  she.  "They  will  say, 
perhaps,  that  Barbarina  fainted  at  the 
unexpected  appearance  of  the  king; 
that  the  joy  of  seeing  him  overcame 
her  ;  is  that  your  meaning,  Marietta?  " 

"Yes,  that  is  my  meaning,"  said 
Marietta,  in  a  low  tone. 

Barbarina  sprang  from  the  divan, 
trembling  and  pallid.  "They  will 
mock  at  and  scorn  me,"  she  cried,  rais- 
ing her  arms  to  heaven  as  if  to  call 
down  the  lightning  to  her  aid  ;  "  they 
will  say  I  love  this  cold  king  !  " 

"They  will  say  that,  Sorella,"  re- 
plied Marietta. 

Barbarina  seized  her  hand.  "  But 
you,  sister  I  you  will  not  say  this  ;  you 
know  that  I  have  sworn  to  hate  him 
with  an  everlasting  hatred.  You  know 
that  I  have  put  an  evil  spell  upon  him 
with  my  tears ;  that  I  never  can  forgive 
him  for  the  suffeiing  and  agony  he 
prepared  for  me.  Think,  think,  Ma- 
rietta, how  much  I  have  wept,  how 
much  I  have  endured  I  My  life  was 
like  a  lustrous  May  morning,  a  fau'y 
tale  of  starry  splendor  ;  roses  and  joearls 
were  in  my  path ;  he  has  obscured  my 
stars,  and  changed  my  pearls  to  tears. 
Woe  to  him !  woe  to  him  !  I  have 
sworn  to  hate  him  etemally,  and  Bar- 
barina keeps  her  oath." 

'•  Yes,  you  have  sworn  to  hate  him. 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS 


119 


sister,  but  the  world  is  ignorant  of  your 
oath  and  its  cause;  their  eyes  are 
blinded,  and  they  strangely  mistake 
your  hate  for  love.  They  see  that  your 
glance  is  clearer,  brighter,  when  the 
king  is  by,  and  they  know  not  that  it 
is  hate  which  flashes  from  your  eyes ; 
they  hear  that  your  voice  lightly  trem- 
bles when  you  speak  to  him,  they  do  not 
know  that  the  hatred  in  your  heart  de- 
prives you  of  self-control ;  they  see  that 
you  dance  with  more  enchanting  grace 
in  the  king's  presence,  they  do  not  un- 
derstand that  these  are  instruments  of 
revenge — that  you  wish  to  crush  him 
by  the  mighty  power  of  genius,  grace, 
and  beauty." 

"Yes,  yes!  just  so,"  said  Barbarina, 
breathing  painfully  ;  "  you  alone  know 
me,  you  alone  read  my  heart !  I  hate, 
I  abhor  this  cold,  cruel  king,  and  he 
richly  deserves  my  hate !  He  may  be 
wise  and  great,  but  his  heart  is  ice.  It 
is  true,  he  is  handsome  and  exalted ; 
genius  is  marked  on  his  noble  brow; 
his  smile  is  magical,  and  irradiates  his 
face ;  his  eyes,  those  great,  inexplicable 
eyes,  are  blue  as  the  heavens  and  un- 
fathomable as  the  sea.  When  I  look 
into  them,  I  seem  to  read  the  mysteries 
of  the  great  deep,  and  the  raptures  of 
heaven.  His  voice,  when  he  pleads,  is 
like  consecrated  music ;  when  he  com- 
mands, it  is  the  voice  of  God  in  thun- 
der. He  is  great  above  all  other  men  ; 
he  is  a  hero,  a  man,  and  a  king !  " 

"  And  yet  you  hate  him  ?  "  said  Mari- 
etta, with  a  mocking  smile. 

Barbarina  trembled.  Marietta's  ques- 
tion checked  her  glowing  enthusiasm ; 
it  rang  in  her  ears  like  the  name-call  in 
the  "  Somnambulist,"  and  roused  her  to 
consciousness. 

"Yes,"  said  she,  in  a  low  tone,  "I 
liate  him,  and  I  will  ever  hate  him  ! 
If  I  loved  him,  I  should  be  the  most 
wretched  of  women — I  should  despise 
and  curse  myself.  He  has  no  heart ; 
ne  cauuot  love ;  and  shame  and  dishon- 


or rests  upon  the  woman  who  loves 
and  is  not  beloved.  Frederick  loves 
nothing  but  his  Prussia,  his  fame,  and 
his  greatness.  And  the  world  says, 
that  '  the  Barbarina  loves  him.'  You 
see  that  is  impossible,  that  can  never  be; 
I  would  rather  die  than  love  this  man 
without  a  heart." 

"The  world  is  incredulous,"  said 
Marietta ;  "  they  cannot  look  into  your 
heart,  and  you  must  be  silent  as  to 
your  hatred.  You  dare  not  say  that 
you  fainted  yesterday  from  scorn  and 
rage  at  the  sudden  appearance  of  the 
king." 

"  Think  you  they  will  believe  that 
joy  overcame  me  ? "  cried  Barbarina, 
in  wild  frenzy.  "  They  shall  not  be- 
lieve it ;  it  shall  not  be !  "  She  sprang 
like  an  enraged  lioness  and  grasped  a 
little  stiletto  which  lay  ui)on  her  toilet- 
table,  and  which  she  had  brought  us  a 
relic  from  her  beautiful  fatherland,  "  I 
will  not  be  mocked  at  and  despised," 
cried  she,  proudly,  dashing  off  her 
gold-embroidered  white  satin  slipper, 
and  raising  her  foot. 

"  Oh  !  Barbarina,  what  will  you  do  ? " 
cried  Marietta,  as  she  saw  her  take  up 
the  stiletto. 

"  This,"  said  she,  significantly.  Stick- 
ing the  point  of  the  stiletto  in  the  sole 
of  her  foot ;  the  blood  gushed  out  and 
covered  her  stocking  with  blood. 

Marietta  uttered  a  cry  of  terror,  and 
rushed  to  her  sister,  but  Barbarina 
waved  her  away ;  the  wound  and  the 
flow  of  blood  had  brought  relief  to  her 
wild  nature ;  she  was  calm,  and  a  rav- 
ishing smile  disclosed  two  rows  of 
pearly  teeth. 

"Be  still.  Marietta,"  said  she,  in  a 
commanding  tone,  "  the  wound  is  not 
deep,  not  dangerous,  l:)ut  deep  enough 
to  confirm  my  statement  when  I  de- 
clare that,  while  dancing  last  evening, 
I  wounded  my  foot  ui^on  a  piece  of 
glass  from  a  broken  lamp." 

"  Ah !   now  I   understand  you,  you 


120 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


prond  sister,"  cried  Marietta,  looking 
up  gayly.  "You  -would  thus  account 
for  your  swoon  of  yesterday  ? " 

"  Yes,  and  now  give  me  my  slipper, 
and  allow  me  to  take  your  arm;  we 
will  go  into  tlie  saloon." 

"  With  your  bleeding  foot,  with  this 
open  wound  ? " 

"  Yes,  with  my  bleeding  foot ;  how- 
ever, we  had  better  check  the  flow  of 
blood  a  little." 

The  cavaliers  who  waited  for  the 
signora  became  ever  sadder  and  more 
thoughtful.  Barbarina  must  be  indeed 
ill,  if  she  allowed  her  admirers  to  wait 
so  long,  for  she  was  above  all  the  small 
coquetries  of  women  ;  they  would  not 
go,  however,  till  they  had  news  of  her, 
till  they  had  seen  her  sister. 

At  last  their  patience  was  rewarded ; 
the  portiere  was  drawn  back,  and  Bar- 
barina appeared,  leaning  upon  the  arm 
of  her  sister.  She  was  pale,  and  evi- 
•dently  suffering.  She  walked  slowly 
through  the  saloon,  speaking  here  and 
there  to  the  cavaliers,  and  conversing 
in  the  gay,  gracious,  and  piquant  man- 
ner in  which  she  excelled.  Suddenly, 
in  the  midst  of  one  of  those  merry  in- 
terchanges of  thought,  in  which  one 
speaks  of  every  thing  or  nothing,  Bar- 
barina uttered  a  cry  of  pain  and  sank 
upon  the  sofa. 

"I  believe,  I  fear  that  my  foot  is 
bleeding  again,"  she  cried.  She  slight- 
ly raised  her  robe  and  lifted  up  her 
foot,  that  small  object  of  wonder  and 
rapture  to  all  the  lands  of  Europe. 
Truly  her  white  satin  slipper  was  crim- 
son, and  blood  was  flowing  freely  from 
it. 

A  cry  of  horror  sounded  from  every 
lip.  The  gentlemen  surrounded  Bar- 
barina, who  lay  pale  as  death  upon  the 
wfa,  while  Marietta  knelt  before  her, 
and  wrapped  her  foot  in  her  handker- 
chief. This  was  a  striking  scene.  A 
saloon  furnished  with  princely  splen- 
♦^or,  and  odorous  with  the  rarest  flow- 


ers ;  a  group  of  cavaliers  in  their  gold- 
embroidered  2oats  and  uniforms,  glit- 
tering with  crosses  and  orders;  the 
signora  lying  upon  the  divan  in  a 
charming  neglige,  with  her  bleeding 
foot  resting  upon  the  lap  of  her  sister. 

"  You  are  wounded,  signora,  you 
bleed ! "  cried  the  young  Prince  of 
Wurtemburg,  with  such  an  expression 
of  horror,  you  would  have  thought  he 
expected  the  instant  death  of  the  Bar  • 
barina. 

The  lovely  Italian  looked  up  in  seem- 
ing surprise.  "Did  not  your  highness 
know  that  I  was  wounded  ?  I  thought 
you  were  a  witness  to  my  accident  yes- 
terday ?  " 

"  Certainly,  I  was  at  the  opera-house, 
as  were  all  these  gentlemen;  but  what 
has  that  to  do  with  your  bleeding 
foot  ? " 

"  A  curious  question,  indeed  !  You 
did  not,  then,  understand  the  cause  of 
my  swooning  yesterday?  I  will  ex- 
plain. I  felt  a  severe  i)ain  in  the  sole 
of  my  foot,  which  passed  like  an  elec- 
tric shock  through  my  frame,  and  I 
became  insensible.  While  unconscious 
my  blood,  of  course,  ceased  to  flow, 
and  the  physician  did  not  discover  the 
cause  of  my  sudden  illness.  This 
morning,  in  attempting  to  walk,  I 
found  the  wound." 

"My  God,  what  a  mis.^ortune,  what 
an  irreparable  blow  !  "  cried  the  cava- 
liers, with  one  voice ;  "  we  can  never 
again  hope  to  see  our  enchanting 
dancer." 

"  Compose  yourselves,  gentlemen," 
cried  Barbarina,  smiling,  "  ray  confine- 
ment will  be  of  short  duration,  and 
will  have  no  evil  consequences.  I 
stepped  upon  a  piece  of  glass  which 
had  fallen  upon  the  boards,  and  pier- 
cing the  slipper  entered  my  foot ;  the 
wound  is  not  deep ;  it  is  a  slight  cut, 
and  1  shall  be  restored  in  a  idvf  days." 

"And  now,"  said  Barbarina,  Mith  a 
triumphant    smile    as    she  was    onct 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  fRIEXDS. 


121 


snore  alone  with  her  sister,  "no  one 
will  mock  at  me  and  make  malicious 
comments  upon  my  fainting.  In  an 
hour  the  whole  city  will  hear  this  his- 
tory, and  I  hope  it  may  reach  the  cars 
of  the  king," 

"  He  will  not  believe  it,"  said  Mari- 
etta shrugging  her  shoulders;  "he 
een'^  immediately  for  your  physician 
and  questioned  him  closely  as  to  your 
sudden  indisposition  in  the  theatre.  I 
had  just  left  your  boudoir  to  get  you  a 
glass  of  water,  and  when  I  returned  I 
found  the  king  standing  before  your 
door  and  listening  to  your  groans." 

A  wondrous  expression  of  light  and 
peace  shone  in  her  great  black  eyes. 
"The  king  was  then  behind  the  cur- 
tains, he  stood  before  my  door,  he 
wished  to  speak  to  me,  and  you  tell  me 
this  now,  only  now,  when  you  might 
have  known — "  Barbarina  paused,  and 
turned  away  her  blushing  face. 

"  Well,  I  might  have  known  that  the 
king,  whom  you  hate  so  bitterly,  had 
waited  in  vain  at  your  door,  had  been 
turned  away  by  the  proud  dancer  as  a 
common  man;  this  was,  indeed,  a  tri- 
umph of  revenge,"  said  Marietta, 
smiling. 

"  I  did  not  turn  him  away,"  said 
Barbarina,  with  embarrassment. 

"  No !  you  drew  your  bolt  on  the  in- 
eide,  nothing  more." 


CHAPTER  Xiy. 


THE   STTIDIO. 


Barbaresta  was  right ;  the  wound  in 
her  foot  was  not  dangerous.  She  was 
ordered  to  be  quiet  for  some  days,  and 
s:ive  up  dancing.  The  physician  to 
whom  she  showed  her  foot  and  de- 
clared that  she  had  only  just  discov- 
ered the  cause  of  her  sudden  swoon, 
examined  the  wound  with  an  incredu- 


lous smile,  and  asked  to  see  the  shoe, 
the  sole  of  which  must  also  be  neces- 
sarily cut,  he  said;  in  this  way  only 
could  he  teU  if  the  wound  had  been  in- 
flicted by  a  piece  of  glass  or  nail,  and 
know  the  size  and  sharpness  of  the 
instrument.;  Barbarina  blushed,  and 
ordered  Marietta  to  bring  the  shoe ;  she 
retm'ned  immediately  with  a  slipper, 
showing  a  sharp  cut  in  the  sole.  The 
physician  examined  it  silently,  and 
then  declared  it  was  a  piece  of  glass 
which  had  caused  the  fainting  of  the 
signora;  he  ordered  cooling  applica- 
tions and  perfect  quiet,  and  promised 
restoration  in  a  few  days. 

The  king  had  commanded  the  phy- 
sician to  come  to  him  imme<liatey  after 
his  visit  to  Barbarina.  He  was  an- 
nounced, and  as  he  entered,  Frederick 
advanced  to  meet  him. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  is  the  wound 
dangerous  ?  will  the  signora  be  obliged 
to  give  up  the  stage  ?  " 

"Ah!  surely  your  majesty  cannot 
believe  that  the  Barbarina  has  given 
herself  a  wound  which  will  destroy 
her  fame  and  fortune  ! " 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said 
Frederick,  impatiently;  "do  not  speak 
in  riddles." 

"I  repeat,  your  majesty,  the  signora 
would  not  intentionally  have  wounded 
her  foot  seriously,  and  thereby  de- 
stroyed her  art." 

"Do  you  believe  that  she  wounded 
herself  voluntarily  ? " 

"  I  am  convinced  of  it,  sire.  The  sig- 
nora declares  that  she  stepped  upon  a 
piece  of  glass.  I  desired  to  see  the  slip- 
per ;  Marietta  brought  me  one,  in  the  sole 
of  which  I  discovered  a  cut,  but  it  did 
not  correspond  at  all  with  the  wound 
in  the  foot,  and  had  been  evidently  just 
made  with  a  knife.  Certainly  Barba- 
rina was  not  wounded  while  she  wore 
that  shoe ;  moreover,  I  affirm  that  the 
wound  was  not  inflicted  by  a  piece  of 
glass  or  a  nail,  but  by  a  stiletto;  the 


122 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


wound  is  three-sided;  I  am  confident 
phe  wounded  herself  with  a  stiletto  I 
saw  in  her  room." 

The  king's  face  grew  dark  while  the 
physician  spoke;  he  pressed  his  lips 
together:  this  was  ever  a  sign  that  a 
storm  was  imaging  in  his  breast  whicli  he 
wislied  to  control. 

"  Is  that  all  you  have  to  say  ? " 

"That  is  al',  sire." 
.    "  Good  I    You  will  visit  the  signora 
to-morrow,  and  bring  me  news  of  her." 

The  king  was  alone,  and  pacing  his 
room  nervously.  It  was  in  vain  that 
Biche,  his  favorite  hound,  raised  her- 
self ujj  and  drew  near  to  him.  The 
wise  little  animal  seemed,  indeed,  to 
understand  the  sadness  of  her  master, 
and  looked  up  at  him  with  sorrowful 
and  sympathetic  eyes.  Once  Frederick 
murmured  half  iiloud :  "  She  has  sworn 
to  hate  me,  and  she  keeps  her  oath." 
After  long  thought,  he  seemed  to  be 
resolved,  and  drew  near  the  door ;  he 
opened  it  and  stood  a  moment  on  the 
threshold,  then  closed  it  again,  and 
said:-  "No!  I  dare  not  do  that.  I 
dare  not  do  what  any  other  man  might 
do  in  my  place;  not  I  —  I  am  a  king. 
Alas !  men  think  it  a  light  matter  to  be 
a  king  ;  that  the  crown  brings  no  care, 
no  weight  to  the  brow  and  the  heart. 
Our  heart's  blood  is  often  the  lime  with 
which  our  crowns  are  secured."  He 
sighed  deeply,  then  stood  up  and  shook 
himself  like  a  lion,  when,  after  a  long 
repose,  he  rouses  himself  to  new  life 
and  action.  "Oh!  I  am  sentimental," 
he  said,  with  a  sad  smile.  "  I  doubt  if 
a  king  has  a  right  to  dream.  Away, 
then,  with  sentiments  and  sighs! 
Truly,  what  would  Maria  Theresa  say 
if  she  knew  that  the  King  of  Prussia 
was  a  sentimentalist,  and  sighed  and 
loved  like  a  young  maiden  ?  Would 
she  not  think  she  had  Silesia  again  in 
"ler  dress-pocket  ? " 

While  the  king  struggled  with  his 
passion,  Barbarina  had  a  far  more  dan- 


gerous enemy  to  contend  with.  Senti- 
mentality is  veiled  in  melancholy,  in 
softened  light  and  faded  tints;  but 
ennui  has  no  eye,  nor  mind,  nor  heart 
for  any  thing.  It  is  a  fearful  enemy  I 
Barbarina  was  w^eary,  oh,  so  weary  1 
Was  it  perhaps  imi^atience  to  appear 
again  upon  the  stage  which  made  the 
hours  so  leaden,  so  long  drawn  out  ? 
She  lay  the  whole  day  stretched  out 
upon  her  sofa,  her  eyes  wide  open,  si- 
lent, and  sighing,  not  responding  to 
Marietta's  loving  words  by  a  glance,  or 
a  movement  of  the  eyelash.  Marietta 
proposed  to  assemble  her  friends,  but 
she  affirmed  that  society  was  more 
wearisome  than  solitude. 

At  the  end  of  three  days,  Barbarina 
sprang  from  her  sofa  and  tried  to  walk. 
"  It  gives  me  no  pain,"  said  she,  walk- 
ing through  the  rocmi. 

"Yes,  I  remember.  Arias  said  the 
same  as  she  handed  the  dagger  to  her 
beloved,"  replied  Marietta. 

"  But  I  have  no  beloved,"  said  Barba- 
rina ;  "  no  one  loves  me,  no  one  under- 
stands this  poor,  glowing,  agonized 
heart."  As  she  said  this,  a  flood  of  tears 
gushed  from  her  eyes,  and  her  form  trem- 
bled with  a  storm  of  passion. 

"  Ah,  Sorella,  how  can  you  say  that 
—  you  who  are  so  much  loved,  so 
highly  prized  ? " 

Barbarina  smiled  contemptuously, 
and  shook  her  head.  "Do  you  call 
that  love?  these  empty  words,  thi-s 
everlasting,  unmeaning  praise ;  this 
rapture  about  my  beauty,  my  grace, 
and  my  skill,  is  this  worship?  Go,  go, 
Marietta,  you  know  it  is  not  love,  it  is 
not  worship.  They  amuse  themselves 
with  a  rare  and  foreign  flower,  which 
is  only  beautiful  because  it  has  been 
dearly  paid  for ;  which  is  only  won- 
dered at  while  it  is  rare  and  strange. 
You  know,  not  one  of  these  men  lovea 
me  for  myself;  they  think  only  of  my 
outward  appearance.  I  am  never  more 
solitary  than  when  th/^y  surround  me, 


J<KEDEtlICK   THE  GREAT   AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


123 


never  feel  so  little  beloved  as  when 
tbey  swear  that  they  love  me  bound- 
lessly. 0  my  God  !  must  I  shroud  my 
heart,  must  I  bury  it  under  the  snows 
of  this  cold  north  ?  O  God,  give  me 
a  heart  for  my  heart,  that  can  love  as 
Barbarina  loves ! "  She  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands,  and  her  tears 
flowed  freely;  she  trembled  and  bowed 
from  side  to  side,  like  a  lily  in  the 
storm. 

Marietta  drew  near,  and  laid  her 
head  upon  her  sister's  shoulder;  she 
did  not  try  to  comfort  her :  she  knew 
there  were  griefs  to  which  words  of 
consolation  were  exasperation ;  she 
knew  that  passion  must  exhaust  itself 
before  it  could  be  soothed.  She  com- 
prehended the  nobility  and  energy  of 
Barbarina's  nature ;  those  bursts  of 
tears  were  like  the  clouds  in  the  trop- 
ics; the  storm  must  break,  and  then 
the  sun  would  shine  more  gloriously. 
Marietta  was  right.  In  a  short  time 
her  sister  withdrew  her  hands  from  her 
face ;  her  tears  were  quenched,  and  her 
eyes  had  their  usual  lustre. 

"I  am  mad,"  she  cried,  "worse  than 
mad !  I  ask  of  the  north,  our  southern 
blossoms,  I  demand  that  their  ice 
shall  become  fire.  Has  not  a  landscape 
of  snow  and  ice  its  grandeur  and 
beauty — yes,  its  tenible  beauty  when 
inhabited  by  bears  and  wolves  ? " 

"But  woe  betide  us,  when  we  meet 
these  monsters!"  said  Marietta,,  enter- 
ing readily  into  her  sister's  jest. 

"Why  woe  betide  us?  Every  dan- 
ger and  every  monster  can  be  over- 
come, if  looked  firmly  in  the  face,  but 
not  too  long,  Marietta,  not  till  your  own 
eye  trembles.  Now,  sister,  enough 
of  this ;  the  rain  is  over,  the  suu  shall 
shine,  I  am  no  longer  ill,  and  will  not 
be  laid  aside  like  a  broken  plaything. 
I  will  be  sound  and  healthy;  I  will 
3ap  my  wings  and  float  once  more 
over  the  gay  world," 

**  Do  you  know,   Sorella,   that  the 


higher  you  fly,  the  nearer  you  are  to 
heaven  ? " 

"  I  will  soar,  but  think  not,  that  like 
Icarus,  I  will  fasten  my  wings  with  wax. 
No.  I  am  wiser,  I  will  fly  with  my  feet ; 
the  sun  has  no  power  over  them :  they 
are  indeed  two  suns.  They  warm  the 
coldest  heart ;  they  set  the  icy  blood  iu 
motion,  they  almost  bring  the  dead  to 
life.  You  see,  sister,  I  have  adopted 
the  style  of  speech  of  my  adorers ;  none 
of  them  being  present,  I  will  worship 
and  exalt  myself." 

Barbarina  said  all  this  merrily,  but 
Marietta  felt  this  gayety  was  not  natu- 
ral. 

"Do  you  know  what  I  have  deter- 
mined upon  ?  "  said  Barbarina,  turning 
away,  so  that  her  face  might  not  be 
seen ;  "  as  I  cannot  dance  either  to-day 
or  to-morrow,  I  will  find  some  other 
mode  of  employing  my  time.  I  will 
go  to  Pesne  and  sit  for  my  portrait." 

She  had  turned  away,  but  Marietta 
saw  that  her  throat  was  suflused  with  a 
soft  flush. 

"  Will  you  drive  to  the  palace  ?  "  said 
Marietta. 

"  Not  to  the  palace,  but  to  Pesne." 

"  Pesne's  studio  is  now  in  the  palace ; 
the  king  appointed  him  rooms  there." 

"Well,  then,  I  must  sit  to  him  in 
the  palace." 

"  This,  however,  will  be  aisagreeable 
to  you ;  you  abhor  the  king,  and  it  will 
be  painful  to  be  under  the  same  roof. 
You  perhaps  suppose  the  king  to  be  in 
Potsdam  :  he  is  now  in  Berlin." 

Barbarina  turned  suddenly,  and 
throwing  her  arms  around  Marietta's 
ne-^k,  she  pressed  a  kiss  ujjon  her  lips, 
and  whispered :  "  I  know  it.  Marietta, 
but  I  must  go." 

The  sisters  went  therefore  to  the 
new  studio  of  the  painter  Pesne,  which 
was  in  the  royal  palace.  The  king 
took  great  pleasure  in  the  growth  and 
development  of  works  of  art.  While 
Pesne  was  engaged  on  his  great  picture 


124 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOX  CI ;    OR, 


of  Diana  and  her  Nj-mphs,  the  king 
often  visited  liis  studio  and  watched 
liim  at  his  work.  He  had  closely  ex- 
amined the  sketch  of  the  portrait  of 
Barbarina,  and,  on  his  return  from  Si- 
lesia, commanded  Pesne  to  arrange  a 
studio  in  the  castle,  as  he  wished  to  be 
near  him. 

Barbarina  sprang  like  a  gazelle  up 
the  steps  ;  her  foot  was  not  painful,  or 
she  was  unconscious  of  it.  She  was 
impatient,  and  would  scarcely  wait  to 
be  announced  before  entering  the  room. 
Pesne  was  there,  and  welcomed  the 
signora  joyfully.  Barbarina  looked 
about  in  vain  for  her  portrait. 

"  Has  misfortune  overtook  the  por- 
trait as  well  as  the  original  ? "  she  said, 
smilingly. 

"  Not  so,  signora,''  said  Pesne ;  "  the 
portrait  excites  as  great  a  furor  as  the 
original — only,  though,  because  it  is  a 
copy." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you." 

"  I  mean,  that  his  majesty  is  so  enrap- 
tured with  the  copy,  that  since  yester- 
day it  has  been  placed  in  his  study, 
although  I  protested  against  it,  the 
picture  not  being  finished.  The  king, 
however,  persisted  ;  he  said  he  wished 
to  show  the  portrait  to  his  friends,  and 
consult  with  them  as  to  its  defects." 

Never,  in  her  most  brilliant  role,  was 
Barbarina  so  beautiful  as  at  this  mo- 
ment: her  countenance  glowed  with 
rapture;  her  happy  smile  and  glance 
would  have  made  the  homeliest  face 
handsome. 

"Then  I  have  come  in  vain,"  she 
said,  breathing  quickly;  "you  can 
make  no  use  of  me  to-day  ? " 

"  No,  no,  signora !  your  face  is  a  star 
seldom  seen  in  my  heaven,  and  I  must 
grasp  the  opportunity — have  kindness 
to  wait ;  I  will  hasten  to  the  king  and 
return  with  the  picture." 

Without  giving  Barbaiina  time  to 
answer,  he  left  the  room.  Why  did 
bcr  heart  beat  so  quickly  ?  WTiy  were 


her  cheeks  suffused  with  crimson  1 
Why  were  her  eyes  fixed  so  nervously 
upon  the  door  'i  Steps  were  heard  in 
the  adjoining  apartment.  Barbarina 
pressed  her  hand  upon  her  heart :  she 
was  greatly  agitated.  The  door  now 
opened,  qnd  Pesne  returned,  alone  and 
without  the  picture. 

"  Signora,"  said  he,  "  the  king  wishes 
that  the  sitting  should  take  place  in 
his  rooms ;  his  majesty  will  be  kind 
enough  to  make  suggestions  and  call 
my  attention  to  some  faults.  I  will  get 
my  palette  and  brush,  and,  if  agreeable 
to  you,  we  will  go  at  once." 

Barbarina  gave  no  reply,  and  became 
deadly  pale,  as  she  walked  through  the 
king's  rooms ;  her  steps  were  uncertain 
and  faltering,  and  she  was  forced  to 
lean  upon  Pesne's  arm ;  she  declared 
that  her  foot  was  painful,  and  he  per- 
haps believed  her. 

They  reached  at  last  the  room  in 
which  the  portrait  Avas  placed.  There 
were  two  doors  to  this  room :  the  one 
through  which  they  had  entered,  and 
another  which  led  to  the  study  of  the 
king.  This  door  was  closed,  and  Bar- 
barina  foimd  herself  alone  with  the 
painter. 

"  The  king  has  yet  some  audiences  to 
give ;  he  commanded  me  to  commence 
my  work.  As  soon  as  he  is  at  liberty, 
he  will  join  us." 

"  Let  us  begin,  then,"  said  Barbarina, 
seating  herself  "  You  must  allow  me 
to-day  to  be  seated.  I  think  it  can 
make  no  difference  to  you,  as  you  are 
at  present  occupied  with  my  face  and 
not  with  my  figure." 

Pesne  declared,  however,  that  this 
attitude  gave  an  entirely  different  ex- 
pression and  bearing  to  the  counte- 
nance. Barbarina  must,  therefore,  in 
spite  of  the  pain  in  her  foot,  endeavor 
to  stand.  She  appeared  now  to  feel 
no  pain:  she  smiled  so  happily,  she 
spoke  so  joyously,  that  Pesne,  while 
gazing  at  her  animated,   enchanting 


FREDERICK   THE  GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


125 


.ovely  face,  forgot  that  he  was  there  to 
paint,  and  not  to  wonder.  Suddenly 
ner  smile  vanished,  and  she  interrupted 
herself  in  the  midst  of  a  gay  remark. 
She  had  heard  the  door  behind  her 
lightly  oj)ened;  she  knew,  by  the 
stormy  beating  of  her  heart,  that  bhe 
was  no  longer  alone  with  the  painter ; 
she  had  not  the  courage  or  strength  to 
turn;  she  was  silent,  immovable,  and 
stared  straight  at  Pesne,  who  painted 
on  quietly.  The  king  had  motioned 
him  not  to  betray  him. 

Pesne  painted  on,  from  time  to  time 
asked  Barbarina  the  most  innocent  and 
simple  questions,  which  she  answered 
confusedly.  Perhaps  she  was  mis- 
taken ;  possibly  she  was  still  alone  with 
the  painter.  But  no,  that  was  impossi- 
ble, it  seemed  to  her  that  a  stream  of 
heavenly  light  irradiated  the  room ; 
she  did  not  see  the  king,  but  she  felt 
his  glance  ;  she  felt  that  he  was  behind 
her,  that  he  was  watching  her,  al- 
though no  movement,  no  word  of  his 
betrayed  him. 

"  I  will  not  move,  I  will  not  turn,  but 
T  cannot  endure  this,  I  shall  fall  dead 
o  the  earth." 

But  now  she  was  forced  to  turn ;  the 
king  called  her  name,  and  greeted  her 
with  a  few  friendly  words.  She  bowed 
and  looked  up  timidly.  How  cold,  in- 
different, and  devoid  of  interest  was 
his  glance,  and  he  had  not  seen  her  for 
weeks,  and  she  had  been  ill  and  suffer- 
ing !  And  now,  she  felt  again  that  she 
hated  him  bitterly,  and  that  it  was  the 
power  of  this  passion  which  overcame 
her  when  she  saw  the  king  so  unexpect- 
edly. She  Mt,  however,  that  every  tone 
of  his  voice  was  like  heavenly  music 
to  her  ear,  that  every  word  he  uttered 
moved  her  heart  as  a  soft  wind  ruffles 
the  sea. 

The  king  spoke  of  her  portrait ;  he 
said  he  had  made  it  his  study  and 
sought  for  its  faults  and  defects,  as  others 
Bought  for  its  advantages  and  beauties. 


"I  tremble,  then,  before  the  judg- 
ment of  your  majesty,"  said  Pesne. 

"  I  must  confess  you  have  some  cause 
to  fear,"  said  the  king.  "I  have  not 
looked  at  the  picture  with  the  eye  of  a 
lover,  but  with  that  of  a  critic ;  such 
eyes  look  sharply,  and  would  see 
spots  in  the  sun ;  no  criticism,  how- 
ever, can  prevent  the  sun  from  shining 
and  remaining  always  a  sun,  and  my 
fault-finding  cannot  prevent  your  por- 
trait from  being  a  beautiful  picture, 
sm-passed  only  by  the  original." 

"Perhaps,  sire,  I  am  myself  one  of 
the  spots  in  the  sun,  and  it  may  be  that 
I  grow  dark." 

"  You  see,  signora,  how  little  I  un- 
derstand the  art  of  flattery ;  even  my 
best  -  intended  compliments  can  be 
readily  changed  into  their  opposites. 
Allow  me,  then,  to  speak  the  simple, 
unadorned  truth.  You  are  more  beau- 
tiful than  your  picture,  and  yet  I  won- 
der at  the  genius  of  Pesne,  which  has 
enabled  him  to  repi'esent  so  much  of 
your  rare  loveliness,  even  as  I  wonder 
at  the  poet  who  has  the  power  to  de- 
scribe the  calm  beauty  of  a  sunny  spring 
morning." 

"  That  would  be  less  difficult  than 
to  paint  the  signora's  portrait,"  said 
Pesne;  "a  spring  morning  is  still,  it 
does  not  escape  from  you,  it  does  not 
change  position  and  expressi(m  every 
moment." 

Frederick  smiled.  "It  would  be 
truly  difficult  to  hold  the  buttei-fly  and 
force  it  to  be  still  without  brushing 
the  down  from  its  beautiful  wings. 
But,  paint  now,  Pesne ;  I  will  seat  my- 
self behind  your  chair  and  look  on." 

Pesne  seized  his  palette  and  brush 
and  began  to  paint.  Barbarina  as- 
sumed the  light,  gracious,  and  graceful 
attitude,  which  the  artist  has  pre- 
served for  us  in  her  beautiful  portrait. 
She  was,  indeed,  indescribably  lovely ; 
her  roimded  arms,  her  taper  fingers, 
which  slightly  raised  the  fleecy  robf 


12G 


BERLIN   AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


and  exposed  the  fairy  foot,  the  small 
aristocratic  Lead,  slightly  inclined  to 
one  side,  the  flashing  eyes,  the  sweet, 
attractive  smile,  were  irresistible ;  every 
one  admired,  and  every  glance  betrayed 
admiration. 

The  face  of  the  king  only  betrayed 
nothing;  he  was  cold,  quiet,  indiffer- 
ent. Barbarina  felt  the  blood  mount 
to  her  cheek,  and  then  retreat  to  her 
heart;  she  felt  that  it  was  impossible 
for  her  to  preserve  her  self-control; 
she  could  not  bear  this  cool  comparison 
of  the  portrait  and  the  original,  but 
she  swore  to  herself  that  the  king 
should  not  have  the  triumph  of  seeing 
her  once  more  sink  insensible  at  his 
feet ;  his  proud,  cold  heart  should  not 
witness  the  outbreak  of  her  scorn  and 
wounded  vanity.  But  her  body  was 
less  strong  than  her  spirit  —  her  foot 
gave  way,  she  tottered,  and  turned 
deadly  pale. 

The  king  sprang  forward,  and  asked 
in  a  sympathetic  and  trembling  voice 
why  she  was  so  pale ;  he  himself 
placed  a  chair  for  her,  and  besought 
her  to  rest.  She  thanked  him  with  a 
soft  smile,  and  declared  she  had  better 
return  home.  Would  the  king  allow 
her  to  withdraw  ?  A  cloud  passed 
over  Frederick's  face ;  a  dark,  stern 
glance  rested  upon  Barbarina. 

"  No ! "  said  he,  almost  harshly ; 
"  you  must  remain  here,  we  have  busi- 
ness with  each  other.  Swartz  has 
brought  me  your  contract  to  sign ;  it 
requires  some  changes,  and  I  should 
have  sent  for  you  if  accident  had  not 
brought  you  here." 

"  Your  majesty  can  command  me," 
said  Barbarina. 

"  We  have  business  and  contracts  to 
consider,"  said  the  king  roughly,  "  and 
we  will  speak  of  them  alone.  Go, 
Pesne,  and  say  to  Swartz  I  await  him." 

Frederick  nodded  to  the  painter,  and, 
seizing  Barbarina's  hand,  lead  her  into 
the    adjoining    room,  his    Tusctdum, 


never  before  profaned  by  a  woman's 
foot ;  open  only  to  the  king's  dearest, 
most  trusty  friends. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE     CONFESSION. 

Barbarina  entered  this  room  with 
peculiar  feelings;  her  heart  trembled, 
her  pulses  beat  quickly.  She,  whose 
glance  was  usually  so  proud,  so  victo- 
rious, looked  up  now  timidly,  almost 
fearfully,  to  the  king.  He  had  never 
appeared  to  her  so  handsome,  so  impos- 
ing, as  in  this  moment.  Silently  she 
took  her  place  upon  the  divan  to 
which  he  led  her.  Frederick  seated 
himself  directly  in  front  of  her. 

"  This  is  the  second  time,"  said  the 
king,  with  a  smile,  *'  the  second  time, 
signora,  that  I  have  had  the  honor  to 
be  alone  with  you.  On  the  first  occa- 
sion you  swore  to  me  that  you  would 
hate  the  King  of  Prussia  with  an  ever- 
lasting hatred." 

"  I  said  that  to  your  majesty  when  I 
did  not  recognize  you,"  said  Barba- 
rina. 

"Had  you  known  me,  signora,  you 
would  surely  not  have  spoken  so 
frankly.  Unhappily,  the  world  has 
silently  resolved  never  to  speak  truth 
to  Idngs.  You  avowed  your  resolution, 
therefore,  at  that  time,  because  you  did 
not  know  you  were  speaking  to  the 
king.  Oh,  signora,  I  have  not  forgot- 
ten your  words.  I  know  that  you  pray 
to  God  every  day ;  not  for  your  own 
happiness,  as  all  chance  of  that  has 
been  destroyed  by  this  cruel  king ; 
but  for  revenge  on  this  man,  who  has 
no  heart,  and  treads  the  hearts  of  other 
men  under  his  feet." 

"  Your  majesty  is  cruel,"  whispered 
Barbarina. 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


127 


"  Cruel !  why  ?  I  only  repeat  yonr 
words.  Cruel,  because  I  cannot  forget ! 
The  words  of  Barbarma  cannot  be  for- 
gotten. In  that  respect  at  least  I  am 
like  other  men." 

"And  in  that  respect  should  your 
majesty  least  resemble  them.  The  lit- 
tle windspiel  may  revenge  its  injuries, 
but  the  eagle  forgives,  and  soars  aloft 
so  high  in  the  heavens  that  the  poor 
offender  is  no  longer  seen  and  soon  for- 
gotten. Your  majesty  is  like  the  eagle, 
why  can  you  not  also  forget  ? " 

"  I  cannot  and  I  will  not !  I  remind 
you  of  that  hour,  because  I  wish  to  ask 
now  for  the  same  frankness  of  speech. 
I  wish  to  hear  the  truth  once  more 
from  those  proud  lips.  Barbarina,  will 
you  tell  me  the  truth  ?  " 

''  Yes,  on  condition  that  your  majesty 
promises  to  forget  the  past." 

"  I  promise  not  to  remind  you  of  it." 

"  I  thank  your  majesty ;  I  will  speak 
the  truth." 

"  You  swear  it  ? " 

"  I  swear  it." 

"Well,  then,  why  did  you  wound 
your  foot  ? " 

Barbarina  trembled  and  was  silent; 
she  had  not  the  courage  to  raise  her 
eyes  from  the  floor. 

"  The  truth !  "  said  the  king,  imperi- 
ously. 

"  The  truth,"  repeated  Barbarina,  re- 
solved, and  she  raised  her  flashing  eyes 
to  the  king ;  "  I  will  speak  the  truth. 
I  wounded  my  foot,  because — " 

"  Because,"  said  the  king,  interrupt- 
ing her  fiercely,  "  ]:>ecause  you  knew  it 
was  a  happiness,  a  life's  joy  to  the  poor, 
lonely,  wearied  king  to  see  you  dance ; 
because  you  felt  that  your  ajjpearance 
was  to  him  as  the  first  golden  rays  of 
the  sun  to  one  who  has  been  buried 
alive,  and  who  bursts  the  bonds  of  the 
dark  grave.  You  hate  me  so  um'clent- 
ingly,  that  even  on  the  evening  of  my 
return  from  an  exhausting  and  danger- 
ous journey,  you   cruelly  resolved  to 


disappoint  me.  I  hastened  to  the 
theatre  to  see  you,  Barbarina,  you,  you 
alone;  but  your  cruel  and  revengeful 
heart  was  without  pity.  You  thought 
of  nothing  but  your  pride,  and  rejoiced 
in  the  power  to  grieve  a  king,  at  the 
sound  of  whose  voice  thousands  trem- 
ble. Your  smiles  vanished,  your  en- 
chanting gayety  was  suppressed,  and 
you  seemed  to  become  insensible. 
With  the  art  of  a  tragedian,  you  as- 
sumed a  sudden  illness,  resolved  that 
the  hated  king  should  not  see  j'ou 
dance.  Ah !  Barbarina,  that  was  a 
small,  a  pitiful  role !  leave  such  aiis 
to  the  chambermaids  of  the  stage. 
You  are  refined  in  your  wickedness; 
you  are  inexorable  in  your  hate.  Not 
satisfied  with  this  pretended  swoon, 
the  next  evening  you  wounded  your- 
self; you  were  proud  to  suffer,  in  order 
to  revenge  yourself  upon  me.  You 
knew  that  a  swoon  must  pass  away, 
but  a  wounded  foot  is  a  grave  accident ; 
its  consequences  might  prove  serious. 
The  king  had  returned  to  Berlin,  and 
had  only  a  few  days  to  refresh  himself, 
after  the  cares  and  exhaustions  of  a 
dangerous  journey ;  after  his  departure 
you  would  be  able  to  dance  again. 
Ah !  signora,  you  are  a  true  daughter 
of  Italy ;  you  understand  how  to  hate, 
and  your  thirst  for  vengeance  is  un- 
quenchable 1  Well,  I  give  you  joy  I  I 
will  fill  your  heart  with  rapture.  You 
have  sworn  to  hate  me;  you  jiray  to 
God  to  revenge  you  upon  the  King  of 
Prussia,  who  has  trampled  your  heart 
under  his  feet.  Now,  then,  Barbarina, 
triumph  !  you  are  revenged.  The  king 
has  a  heart,  and  you  have  wounded  it 
mortally ! " 

Completely  unmanned,  the  king 
sprang  to  his  feet,  and  stepped  to  the 
window,  wishing  to  conceal  his  emo- 
tion from  Barbarina.  Suddenly  he  felt 
his  shoulder  lightly  touched,  and,  turn- 
ing, he  saw  Barbarina  before  him,  more 
proud,  more  beautiful,  more    queenly 


128 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


than  he  had  ever  seen  her  ;  energy  and 
high  resolve  spoke  in  her  faee  and  in 
her  flashing  eyes. 

"  Sii'e,"  she  said,  in  a  full,  mellow 
voice,  which  slightly  trembled  from 
strong  emotion — ''sire,"  she  repeated, 
trying  to  veil  her  agitation  by  outward 
calm,  "I  have  sworn  in  this  hour  to 
speak  the  truth ;  I  will  fulfil  my  vow. 
I  will  speak  the  truth,  though  you  may 
scorn  and  despise  me.  I  will  die  of 
your  contempt  as  one  dies  of  a  quick 
and  deadly  poison ;  but  it  is  better  so 
to  die  than  to  live  as  I  am  living. 
You  shall  know  me  better,  sire.  You 
have  charged  me  with  falsehood  and 
hypocrisy ;  thank  God,  I  can  cast  off 
that  humiliating  reproach !  I  will 
speak  the  truth,  though  it  bows  my 
head  with  shame,  and  casts  me  at  your 
feet.  If  I  could  die  there,  I  would 
count  myself  most  blessed.  The  truth, 
sire,  tlie  truth !  listen  to  it.  It  is  true 
I  hated  you ;  you  humbled  my  pride. 
You  changed  me,  the  queen  of  grace 
and  beauty,  the  queen  of  the  world, 
into  a  poor,  hired  dancer;  with  your 
rude  soldiers  and  police  you  compelled 
me  to  fulfil  a  contract  against  which  my 
soul  revolted.  I  cursed  you.  You  sep- 
arated me  violently  from  the  man  I 
loved,  who  adored  me,  and  offered  me 
a  splended  and  glorious  future.  It  is 
true  I  prayed  to  God  for  vengeance,  but 
He  would  not  hear  my  prayer ;  He  pun- 
ished me  for  ray  mad  folly,  and  tm*ned 
the  dagger  I  wildly  aimed  at  you, 
against  my  own  breast.  Sire,  the  hate 
to  which  I  swore,  to  which  I  clung  as 
the  shipwrecked  mariner  clings  to  the 
plank  which  may  save  him  from  de- 
struction, failed  me  in  the  hour  of  need, 
and  I  sank,  sank  down.  A  day  came 
in  which  the  prayer  of  rage  and  re- 
venge on  my  lips  was  changed,  in  spite 
of  myself,  into  blessings,  and  I  found, 
with  consternation  and  horror,  that 
there  was  indeed  but  one  step  between 
wild  hatred  and  passionate  love,  and 


this  fatal  step  lies  over  an  abyss.  I 
cannot  tell  you,  sire,  how  much  I  have 
suffered — how  vainly  I  have  struggled. 
I  have  hated,  I  have  cursed  myself  be- 
cause I  could  no  longer  hate  and  curse 
you.  The  day  you  left  for  Silesia,  you 
said,  '  I  think  ever  of  thee.'  Oh  I  sii-e, 
you  know  not  what  fatal  poison  you 
poured  into  my  ears,  with  what  rapture 
and  enchantment  these  words  filled  my 
heart.  My  life  was  a  dream ;  I  stood 
under  a  golden  canopy,  drunk  with  joy 
and  blessed  with  heavenly  peace.  I  saw 
these  words,  '  I  think  ever  of  thee,'  not 
only  in  my  heart,  but  in  every  flower, 
on  every  leaf,  and  written  by  the  sun 
in  the  heavens,  and  in  the  stars.  I 
dreamed  of  them  as  one  dreams  of 
fairy  palaces  and  heavenly  melodies. 
In  the  songs  of  sweet  birds,  in  the  plau- 
dits and  bravos  with  which  the  world 
greeted  me,  I  heard  only  these  celestial 
words,  'I  think  ever  of  thee.'  I  lived 
upon  them  during  your  absence,  I 
wrote  them  with  my  glances  upon  your 
empty  chair  in  the  theatre,  I  fixed  my 
eyes  upon  it,  and  for  love  of  you  I 
danced  to  it.  One  night  I  saw  in  this 
chair,  not  only  my  golden  starry  words, 
I  saw  two  stars  from  heaven ;  I  was  not 
prepared — their  glance  was  fatal.  No, 
sire,  that  was  no  miserable  comedy,  no 
actor's  work.  I  sank  unconscious,  and 
from  that  hour  I  know  one  does  not 
die  from  rapture,  but  sinks  insensible. 
I  wept  the  whole  niglit,  God  knows 
whether  from  shame  or  bhss,  I  cannot 
tell.  The  next  day — yes — then  I  was 
false  and  deceitful.  I  stuck  my  stiletto 
in  my  foot,  to  deceive  the  world ;  only 
God  might  know  that  the  Barbarina 
fainted  at  the  sight  of  the  king — 
fainted  because  she  felt  that  she  no 
longer  hated,  but  worshipped  him." 

She  rushed  to  the  door,  but  Freder- 
ick sprang  after  her ;  he  drew  her  back, 
mildly  but  silently ;  his  eyes  were  radi- 
ant with  joy. 

" Remain,''  said   he ;    "I    command 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


129 


you — I,  not  the  king,"  He  placed  his 
lips  to  her  ear  and  whispered  two 
words :  lier  soft  cheeks  were  crimson. 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  knock 
upon  the  door,  the  portiere  was  thrown 
back,  and  the  wan,  suffering  face  of 
Fredersdorf  \\;as  seen. 

"  Sire,"  said  he,  "  your  majesty  com- 
manded me  to  summon  Baron  Swartz ; 
he  is  here,  and  waits  for  your  orders." 

"  Let  him  enter,"  said  tlie  king ;  then 
smiling  upon  Barbarina,  he  said,  "  He 
comes  just  in  time;  we  must  sign  our 
contract,  Swartz  shall  act  as  our  priest." 

He  advanced  to  meet  the  intendant, 
and  asked  for  the  contract  between 
Barbarina  and  himself.  He  read  it 
carefully,  and  said,  "  There  are  only  a 
few  things  to  alter."  He  stepped  to 
his  desk  and  added  a  few  words  to  the 
contract. 

"  Signora,"  said  he,  turning  backward, 
"  will  you  come  here  for  a  moment  ? " 

Barbarina,  embarrassed  and  blushing, 
drew  near.  In  the  back  part  of  the 
room  stood  Baron  Swartz,  watching 
the  king  and  Barbarina  with  a  sly 
smile ;  near  him  stood  Fredersdorf, 
whose  pale  and  melancholy  face  was 
brought  out  in  strong  relief  by  the 
dark  velvet  poi'tUre. 

"  Read  this,"  said  the  king  to  Bar- 
barina, pointing  to  the  words  he  had 
just  written.     "  Have  you  read  ? " 

''  Yes,  sii-e." 

Frederick  raised  his  head,  and,  slight- 
ly turning,  his  glowing  glance  rested 
upon  Barbarina,  who,  ashamed  and 
confused,  cast  her  eyes  to  the  ground. 

*'  Will  j'^ou  sign  this  ? " 

"I  will,  sire,"  said  she,  almost  in- 
audibly. 

"  You  bind  yourself  to  remain  here 
for  three  years,  and  not  to  marry  dur- 
ing that  time  ? "  * 

♦  By  this  ccntract,  Barbarina  received  an  Income 
of  seven  tlionsand  thalers  and  Ave  monttis'  liberty 
durino;  each  year ;  but  she  wns  bound  not  to  marry 
during  this  term  of  thrive  years. — SonNKiDER. 
9 


"I  do,  sire." 

"Take  the  pen  and  sign  our  con- 
tract.— Come  forward,  Swartz,  and  wit- 
ness this  document. — Fredersdorf,  ia 
your  seal  at  hand  ?  " 

The  contract  was  ready. 

"  You  will  say,  '  This  is  a  sad  con- 
tract,' "  said  the  king,  tm-ning  to  Fre- 
dersdorf. 

"  Yes,  sad  indeed.  The  king  deals 
as  cruelly  with  the  Barbarina  as  he  has 
done  with  his  poor  secretary.  This 
cold  king  does  not  believe  in  mar- 
riage." 

"  No,  no !  Fredersdorf,  I  will  prove 
to  you  that  you  are  mistaken.  I  have 
been  told  that  you  are  ill  because  I  will 
not  allow  you  to  marry.  Now,  then, 
Fredersdorf,  I  will  not  be  hard-heart- 
ed. I  have  to-day  made  an  innocent 
sacrifice  to  my  hatred  of  matrimony. 
The  signora  has  bound  herself  not  to 
marry  for  three  years.  For  her  sake,  I 
will  be  gracious  to  you  :  go  and  marry 
the  woman  you  love,  and  when  tlie 
priest  has  made  you  one,  you  shall  take 
your  wife  to  Paris  for  the  honeymoon, 
at  my  cost." 

Fredersdorf  seized  the  hand  of  the 
king,  kissed  it,  and  covered  it  with 
his  tears.  Barbarina  gazed  at  the 
handsome,  glowing  face  of  Frederick 
with  admiration.  She  understood  him 
fully ;  she  felt  that  he  was  happy,  and 
wished  all  around  him  to  partake  of  hia 

joy. 


CHAPTER  XVL 


THE   TRAITOR. 


Baron  von  Pollnitz  was  ill  at  ease  ; 
for  three  days  he  had  sought  relief  dil- 
igently, but  had  no  alleviation.  He 
found  himself  in  the  antediluvian  con- 
dition of  our  great  forefather  Adaru, 
while  he  loitered  away  his  time  in  Para- 


130 


BERLIN   AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


dise.  Like  Adam,  Pcillnitz  had  no  gold. 
Our  good  baron  found  this  by  no  means 
a  happy  state,  and  his  heart  was  full 
of  discontent  and  apprehension;  he  felt 
that  he  was,  indeed,  unblessed.  What 
would  become  of  him  if  the  king 
should  not  be  merciful,  should  not  take 
pity  upon  his  necessities,  which  he  had 
to-day  made  known  to  him  in  a  most 
touching  and  eloquent  letter.  Up  to 
this  time  he  had  been  waiting  in  vain 
for  an  answer.  What  should  he  do  if 
the  king  should  be  hard-hearted  and 
cruel?  But  no,  that  was  impossible; 
he  must  consider  it  a  sacred  duty  to 
take  care  of  the  old  and  faithful  ser- 
vant of  his  house,  who  had  been  the 
favored  companion  of  two  of  Prussia's 
kings.  Pollnitz  considered  that  he  be- 
longed to  the  royal  family  ;  he  was  an 
adopted  member ;  they  could  not  think 
slightingly  of  him,  nor  set  him  aside. 

He  had  exhausted  his  means,  he  had 
borrowed  from  Jew  and  Christian ;  he 
had,  by  his  gay  narratives  and  powers 
of  persuasion,  drawn  large  sums  of  gold 
from  the  rich  burghers;  all  his  friends 
held  his  dishonored  drafts ;  even  his 
own  servant  had  allowed  himself  to  be 
made  a  fool  of,  and  had  loaned  him  the 
savings  of  many  years ;  and  this  sum 
scarcely  sufficed  to  maintain  the  noble, 
dissipated,  and  great-hearted  cavalier  a 
few  weeks. 

Alas  !  what  sacrifices  had  he  not  al- 
ready made  to  this  insane  passion  for 
spending  money ;  what  humiliation  had 
he  not  suffered — and  all  in  vain !  In 
vain  had  he  changed  his  religion  three 
times;  he  had  condescended  so  far  as 
to  pay  court  to  a  merchant's  daughter ! 
he  had  even  wished  to  wed  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  tailor,  and  she  had  rejected 
him, 

"And  yet."  said  he,  as  he  thought 
over  his  past  life,  "eveiyihing  might 
have  gone  well,  but  for  this  formidable 
stratagem  of  the  king;  this  harsh  pro- 
hibition and  penalty  as  to  relieving  my 


necessities  which  has  been  trumjjeted 
through  the  streets — that  ruined  me  ; 
that  gave  me  fearful  tr"^uljle  and  tor- 
ment. That  was  refin'M  cruelty,  for 
which  I  will  one  day  revenge  myself, 
unless  Frederick  makes  amends.  Ha! 
there  comes  a  royal  messenger.  He 
stops  at  my  door.  God  be  thanked  ! 
The  king  answers  my  letter ;  that  is  to 
say,  the  king  sends  me  money." 

Pollnitz  could  scarcely  restrain  him- 
self from  rushing  out  to  receive  the  mes- 
senger ;  his  dignity,  perhaps,  would  not 
have  sufficed  to  hold  him  back,  but  the 
thought  of  the  considerable  douceur  he 
would  be  expected  to  pay  moderated 
his  impatience.  At  last  his  servant 
came  and  handed  him  a  letter. 

*'  I  hope,"  said  the  baron,  gravely,  "I 
hope  you  rewarded  the  king's  messen- 
ger handsomely  ? " 

"  No,  sir,  I  gave  him  nothing." 

"  Nothing ! "  cried  he  angrily.  "And 
you  dare  to  say  this  to  my  face !  you  do 
not  tremble  lest  I  dismiss  you  instantly 
from  my  service  ?  you,  and  such  as  you 
are,  cast  shame  upon  our  race  I  I,  a 
baron  of  the  realm,  the  grand  master  of 
ceremonies,  allow  a  royal  messenger 
M-ho  brings  me  a  letter  to  go  from  my 
door  unrewarded  !  Ass,  if  you  had  no 
money,  why  did  you  not  come  to  me  ? 
why  did  you  not  call  upon  me  for  sev- 
eral ducats?" 

"  If  your  grace  will  give  me  the  money, 
I  will  run  after  the  messenger.  I  know 
where  to  find  him ;  he  has  gone  to  Gen- 
eral Rothenbcrg's." 

"  Leave  the  room,  scoundrel,  and 
sjmre  me  your  folly  !  " 

Pollnitz  raised  his  arm  to  strike,  but 
the  lackey  fled  and  left  him  alone  with 
his  golden  dreams  of  the  future. 

He  hastily  broke  the  seal  and  opened 
the  letter.  "  Not  from  the  king,  but 
from  Fredersdorf,  "  he  murmured  im 
patiently.  As  he  read,  his  brow  grew 
darker,  and  his  lips  breathed  words  of 
cursing  and  seem. 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT   AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


131 


''  Refused !  "  said  he  passionately,  as 
he  read  to  the  end,  and  cast  the  letter 
angrily  to  the  floor,  "Refused  !  The 
king  has  no  money  for  me  !  The  king 
needs  all  his  gold  for  war,  which  is  now 
about  to  be  declared  ;  and,  if  I  wish  to 
convince  myself  that  this  is  true,  I  must 
go  to-night,  at  eleven  o'clock,  to  the  mid- 
dle door  of  the  castle,  and  there  I  will 
see  that  the  king  has  no  money.  A 
curious  proposition,  indeed  !  I  would 
rather  go  to  discover  that  he  had 
money,  than  that  he  had  it  not.  If  he 
had  it,  I  would  find  a  means  to  supply 
myself.  At  all  events,  I  will  go.  A 
curious  rendezvous  indeed — a  midnight 
assignation  between  a  bankrupt  baron 
and  an  empty  purse  !  A  tragedy 
might  grow  out  of  it.  But  if  Frederick 
has  really  no  money,  I  must  seek  else- 
where. I  will  make  a  last  attempt — I 
will  go  to  Trenck."  x 

The  trusty  baron  made  his  toilet  and 
hastened  to  Trenck's  apartments.  The 
young  officer  had  lately  taken  a  beau- 
tiful suite  of  rooms.  He  had  his  recep- 
tion-rooms adorned  with  costly  furni- 
ture and  rare  works  of  art.  He  had  an 
antechamber,  in  which  two  richly- 
liveried  servants  waited  to  receive  his 
orders.  He  had  a  stable  and  four  splen- 
did horses  of  the  Arabian  breed,  and 
two  orderlies  to  attend  to  them  !  From 
what  quarter  did  Trenck  obtain  the 
money  for  all  this  livery  ?  This  was  an 
open  question  with  which  the  comrades 
of  the  young  lieutenant  were  exercised  ; 
it  gave  them  much  cause  for  thought, 
and  some  of  them  were  not  satisfied 
with  thinking;  these  thoughts  took 
form,  some  of  their  words  reached  the 
ears  of  Trenck,  and  must  have  been 
considered  by  him  very  objectionable. 
He  challenged  the  speaker  to  fight 
with  the  sword,  and  disabled  him  ef- 
fectually from  speaking  afterward.* 
Trenck  was  at  dinner,  and,  contrary  to 

•  Frederick  von  Trenck'a  Memoires. 


custom,  alone;  he  received  Pollnita 
most  graciously,  and  the  baron  took  a 
seat  willingly  at  the  table. 

"  I  did  not  come  to  dine  with  you 
but  to  complain  of  you,"  said  Pollnitz, 
cutting  up  the  grouse  with  great  adroit- 
ness and  putting  the  best  part  upon  his 
plate. 

"  You  come  to  complain  of  me  ? "  re- 
peated Trenck,  a  little  embarrassed. 
"  I  have  given  you  no  cause  for  dis- 
pleasure, dear  friend." 

"  Yes,  you  have  given  me  good  cause, 
even  while  I  am  your  best  friend  !  Why 
have  you  withdrawn  your  confidence 
from  me  ?  Why  do  I  no  longer  accom- 
pany you  on  that  most  romantic  mid- 
night moonlight  pa^h  to  vh-tue  ?  Why 
am  I  no  longer  watchman  and  duenna 
when  you  and  your  lady  call  upon  the 
moon  and  stars  to  witness  your  love  ? 
Why  am  I  set  aside  ? " 

"  I  can  only  say  to  all  this  that  I  go 
no  more  upon  the  balcony." 

"That  is  to  say— " 

"That  is  to  say  that  my  stars  are 
quenched  and  my  sun  has  set  in  the 
clouds.  I  am,  even  as  you  are,  set 
aside." 

Pollnitz  gazed  at  Trenck  with  so 
sharp  and  cunning  an  eye  that  the 
young  man  Avas  confused  and  looked 
doAvn.     The  baron  laughed  men-ily. 

"  Dear  Trenck,"  said  he,  "  a  lie  shows 
in  your  face  like  a  spot  on  the  smooth 
skin  of  a  rosy  apple.  You  are  too  young 
to  understand  lying,  and  I  am  too  old 
to  be  deceived  by  it.  Another  point : 
will  you  make  me  believe  that  this 
luxury  which  surrounds  you  is  main- 
tained with  your  lieutenant's  pay  ?  " 

"  You  forget  that  my  father  has  left 
me  his  property  of  Sherlock,  and  that 
I  have  rented  it  fur  eight  hundred 
thalers ! " 

"I  am  too  good  an  accountant  not 
to  know  that  this  sum  would  scarcely 
suffice  for  your  horses  and  servant." 

"Well,  perhaps  you  are  right;    foi 


132 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


the  rest  I  must  thank  my  gracious  king. 
During  the  course  of  this  year  he  has 
presented  me  with  three  hundred  Fred- 
ericks d'or;  and  now  you  know  the 
source  of  my  revenue,  and  will  not 
think  so  meanly  of  me  as  to  suppose 
that—" 

"  That  your  great  love  has  any  thing 
to  do  with  earthly  riches  or  advance- 
ment. I  do  not  believe  that  I  brought 
in  such  a  charge  against  you,  even  as 
little  do  I  believe  that  you  have  been 
given  up !  Ah,  dear  friend,  I  alone 
have  cause  of  complaint;  I  alone  am 
set  aside,  and  why  am  I  thus  treated  ? 
Have  I  not  been  discreet,  diligent  in 
your  service,  and  ready  at  all  times  ? " 

"  Certainly.  I  c*n  only  repeat  to  you 
that  all  is  at  an  end.  Our  beautiful 
dream  has  faded  like  the  morning 
cloud  and  the  early  dew." 

"You  are  in  earnest?" 

"  In  solemn  earnest." 

"  Well,  tlien,  I  will  also  speak  ear- 
nestly. I  will  relate  to  you  something 
which  you  do  not  appear  to  know.  A 
gardener  boy  who  had  risen  earlier  than 
usual  to  protect  some  rare  flowers  in 
the  garden  of  Monbijou  saw  two  figures 
upon  the  balcony,  and  heard  their  light 
whispers.  The  boy  made  known  his 
discovery  to  the  principal  gardener,  and 
he  communicated  the  facts  to  the  cham- 
berlain of  the  queen-mother.  It  was 
resolved  to  watch  the  balcony.  The 
virtuous  and  suspicious  queen  immedi- 
ately concluded  that  IMademoiselle  von 
Marwitz  had  arranged  a  rendezvous 
upon  the  balcony,  and  she  was  sternly 
resolved  to  dismiss  the  lady  at  once  if 
any  proof  could  be  obtained  against  her. 
Happily,  the  queen  made  known  these 
facts  to  the  princess  Amelia,  and  I  can 
readily  conceive  that  the  balcony  re- 
mains now  unoccupied." 

"  Yes,  I  understand  that." 

"You  can  also  understand  that  this 
event  was  regarded  as  a  warning  of  fate, 
and  great  caution  and  forethought  were 


exercised.  Not  only  was  the  balcony 
given  up,  but  the  old  friend  and  confi- 
dant who  had  played  the  part  of  com- 
panion and  carrier-pigeon  was  banished 
and  dismissed  wholly  from  service." 

"  You  may  go  further  still,"  said  Fred- 
erick von  Trenck.  "  You  have  not 
stated  the  whole  case.  This  fortunate 
providence  was  a  convincing  proof  of 
the  danger  of  an  engagement  which 
might  never  hope  to  be  crowned  with 
success,  never  exist  except  under  the 
shadows  of  silence  and  gloom,  with 
bleeding  hearts  and  tearful  eyes ;  this 
dream  of  love  was  given  up  at  once,  fear- 
ing that  at  no  distant  day  both  honor  and 
lii)erty  might  be  lost  in  its  pursuit.  They 
separated  !  An  eternal  farewell  wan 
faltered ! " 

"  That  is  to  say,  you  would  now  de- 
ceive your  confidant  and  former  aid, 
in  order  to  place  yourself  more  securely 
— and  some  day,  perhaps,  when  suspi- 
cion is  aroused,  you  can  call  him  as  a 
witness  to  throve  that  all  intercourse  was 
long  ago  given  up ;  he  must  know  it, 
being  the  confidant  from  the  beginning. 
This  was  a  well-conceived  plot,  but  j'ou 
only  seem  to  forget  that  Pollnitz  was  not 
the  man  to  be  deceived.  He  has  had  too 
much  experience,  and  has  studied  the 
hearts  of  men,  and  especially  of  women, 
too  diligently.  A  woman  who  is  en- 
joying her  first  love  and  believes  in  its 
holy  power,  convinces  herself  that  it 
can  achieve  wonders  and  overcome  all 
obstacles.  She  does  not  sacrifice  her 
love  to  other  duties  or  to  danger,  not 
even  if  she  is  a  common  woman,  far  less 
if  she  is  a  princess.  Princess  Amelia 
has  not  given  up  her  young  and  hand- 
some lover ;  she  clings  to  him  with  a 
frenzied  constancy,  which,  I  confess  to 
you,  if  I  had  the  honor  and  glory  of 
being  her  suitor,  would  fill  me  with 
ap])rehension  and  regret.  No,  no,  the 
princess  is  just  now  in  a  paroxysm  of 
youthful  passion,  and  would  rather  die 
than  resign  her  love,  and  she  is  fantas- 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT   AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


133 


tic  enough  to  believe  in  the  possibility 
of  a  legitimate  marriage  !  Poor  thing, 
she  expects  to  mould  the  world  to  her 
wishes,  and  arms  herself,  I  suppose, 
with  hair-pins !  Princess  Amelia  was 
forced  to  give  up  her  interviews  up- 
on the  balcony,  but  she  sought  other 
means  to  gratify  her  passion.  This 
was  simple  and  easy  to  do.  The  maid 
of  honor  was  taken  into  her  confidence. 
Marwitz  swore  to  guard  the  secret 
faithfully  till  death ;  a  plan  was  then 
arranged  with  her  which  was  truly  well 
conceived.  Lieutenant  von  Trenck 
must  be  spoken  of  as  the  suitor  of  Mad- 
emoiselle von  3Iarwitz  ;  he  must  act  at 
the  court-balls  and  fetes  as  the  tender, 
sighing,  and  eager  lover  of  the  maid 
of  honor;  he  must  at  last  make  a 
formal  declaration,  and  receive  permis- 
sion to  visit  her  in  her  rooms.  This  is 
now  his  daily  habit,  and  the  good  city 
of  Berlin  and  the  short-sighted,  silly 
court  are  completely  deceived,  and  look 
upon  Frederick  von  Trenck  as  the  hap- 
py bridegroom  of  Marwitz ;  and  no  one 
guesses  that  when  the  young  officer  is 
with  the  maid  of  honor,  the  Princess 
Amelia  is  also  present,  and  changes  the 
r61e  with  Marwitz." 

"  I  see  it  is  in  vain,"  said  Trenck,  sigh- 
ing ;  "  you  know  all :  but  if  you  have 
any  real  friendship  for  me,  you  will  tell 
me  who  betrayed  us." 

Pollnitz  laughed  aloud.  "You  be- 
trayed yourself,  my  friend  ;  or,  if  you 
prefer  it,  my  worldly  wisdom  and  cun- 
ning betrayed  you.  My  young  and  in- 
nocent friend,  a  man  like  Pollnitz,  is 
not  easily  deceived ;  his  eyes  are  sharp 
enough  to  pierce  the  veil  of  the  most 
charming  little  intrigue,  and  probe  it 
to  the  bottom  !  I  know  the  Princess 
Amelia;  I  have  known  her  too  long, 
not  to  know  that  she  would  not  so 
quickly,  and  without  a  struggle,  sacri- 
fice her  love  ;  and  further,  when  I  saw  at 
the  last  court-ball  with  what  a  long 
and  dreary  face  you  stood  behind  the 


chair  of  the  poor  Marwitz,and  with  what 

calm  and  smiling  content  the  princess 
watched  the  couple  amoureuse,  look  you, 
Trenck,  then  I  knew  and  understood 
all." 

"  Well,  then,  as  you  understand  all, 
I  make  no  further  attempt  to  deceive 
you.  Yes,  God  be  praised  !  the  princess 
loves  me  still.  It  is  indeed  the  princess 
whom  I  meet  in  the  apartment  of  the 
maid  of  honor  ;  to  Marwitz  are  the  let- 
ters directed  which  my  servant  carries 
every  morning  to  the  i^alace,  and  fi-om 
the  Princess  Amelia  do  I  receive  my 
answers.  Yes,  God  be  thanked  !  Ame- 
lia loves  me,  and  one  day  she  will  be 
mine  in  the  eyes  of  the  whole  world, 
even  as  she  is  now  mine  in  the  eyes  of 
God  and  the  angels;  one  day — " 

"  Stop,  st<)p  !  "  cried  Pollnitz,  inter- 
rupting him ;  "  that  last  sentence  must 
be  explained  before  you  rush  on  with 
your  dithyrambics.  You  have  declared 
that  the  princess  is  yours  in  the  sight  of 
God:  what  does  that  mean ?  " 

"That  means,"  said  Trenck,  "that 
God,  who  looks  into  our  heiirts,  knows 
the  eternity  and  boundlessness  of  our 
love;  that  means  that,  under  God's 
heaven,  and  calling  upon  His  holy 
name,  we  have  sworn  never  to  forget 
our  love  and  our  faith,  and  never  to 
form  any  other  alliance." 

"  So  nothing  more  than  that — no  se- 
cret marriage?  Are  you  never  alone 
with  the  princess? " 

"No,  never!  I  have  given  her  my 
word  of  honor  never  even  to  ask  it,  and 
I  will  keep  my  oath.  And,  after  all, 
the  good  Marwitz  disturbs  us  not ;  she 
gets  as  far  from  us  as  possible ;  she  seems 
to  sec  us  not,  and  we  speak  in  such  low 
tones,  that  she  does  not  hear  a  word  we 
utter." 

"  Ah !  so  the  Marwitz  does  not  dis- 
turb you  ? "  cried  Pollnitz,  with  a  cyni- 
cal laugh.  "  0  sancta  simpUcitas  !  and 
this  is  an  officer  of  the  lite-guard  !  The 
world  is  going  to  destruction,  or  it  is 


134 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


becoming  innocent  and  pure  as  Para- 
dise, It  is  time  for  me  to  die ;  I  no 
.onger  understand  this  pitiful  world." 

"I  do  not  understand  you,  and  I 
•will  not  understand  you,"  said  Trenck, 
gravely.  "  You  laugh  at  me,  and  call 
me  a  silly  boy,  and  I  allow  it.  I  know 
we  cannot  understand  each  other  in 
such  matters;  you  cannot  conceive 
what  strength,  what  self-denial,  what 
energy  I  exert  to  make  myself  worthy 
of  the  pure,  modest,  and  exalted  love 
which  Amelia  has  consecrated  to  me. 
You  cannot  comprehend  how  often  my 
good  and  evil  genius  struggle  for  the 
mastery,  how  often  I  pray  to  God  to 
keep  me  from  temptation.  No,  I  have 
sworn  that  this  love  shall  wav^pure  and 
unblemished,  like  a  glorious  banner  over 
my  whole  life ;  come  death  rather  than 
dishonor !  And  now,  friend,  explain 
your  meaning :  why  all  these  i)lots  and 
counterplots  ?  what  is  your  object  ? " 

''  Nothing  more  than  to  warn  you  to 
prudence.  I  do  not  believe  all  the 
world  is  deceived  by  your  comedy 
with  Marwitz.  The  king,  who  ap- 
pears to  see  nothing,  sees  all.  He  has 
his  spies  everywhere,  and  knows  all 
that  happens  in  his  family.  Be  care- 
ful, be  ever  on  your  guard." 

"I  thank  you  for  your  warning," 
said  Trenck,  pressing  the  hand  of  the 
master  of  ceremonies.  "  We  must  soon 
separate;  you  know  that  in  a  few 
weeks  we  go  to  Silesia.  The  king  is 
silently  preparing  for  war." 

"  I  know  it,  and  I  pity  you." 

"  Pity  me  !  Ah,  you  do  not  under- 
stand me.  I  long  for  my  first  battle  as 
a  lover  does  for  his  first  sweet  kiss. 
The  battle-field  is  for  me  a  consecrated 
garden,  where  my  laurels  and  myrtles 
grow.  I  shall  pluck  them  and  weave 
wreaths  for  my  bride  —  wedding- 
wreaths.  Pollnitz,  on  the  other  side, 
beyond  the  bloody  battle-ground,  lies 
my  title  of  prince,  and  Amelia's  bridal- 
wreath." 


"  Dreamer,  fantastic,  hopeless  dream- 
er ! "  cried  Pollnitz,  laughing.  "  Well, 
God  grant  that  you  do  not  embrace 
death  on  the  battle-field,  or  on  the 
other  side  find  a  prison,  to  either  of 
which  you  have  a  better  claim  than  to 
a  prince's  title.  Make  use,  therefore, 
of  your  time,  and  enjoy  these  charm- 
ing interviews.  Is  one  arranged  for 
this  evening  ? " 

"  No,  but  to-morrow.  The  reigning 
queen  gives  a  ball  to-morrow.  Imme- 
diately before  the  ball  I  am  to  meet  the 
princess.  Oh,  my  friend,  to-morrow 
evening  at  five  think  of  me !  I  shall 
be  the  happiest  and  most  enviable  of 
mortals.     I  shall  be  with  my  beloved  ! " 

"  Alas  !  how  strange  is  life,  and  how 
little  do  the  fates  of  men  resemble ! 
To-morrow,  at  the  hour  when  you  will 
be  so  unspeakably  happy,  I  shall  be 
walking  in  a  thorny,  a  cursed  path  ;  I 
shall  be  on  my  way  to  the  usurer." 

"To  the  usurer?  That  is  indeed  a 
sad  alteniative  for  a  cavalier  like  the 
Baron  von  Pollnitz." 

"  But  that  is  still  better  than  im- 
prisonment for  debt,  and  I  have  only 
the  choice  between  these  two,  unless  you 
dearest  friend,  will  take  pity  upon  me 
and  lend  me  a  hundred  louis  d'ors." 

Frederick  Trenck  said  nothing.  He 
stepped  to  his  desk.  The  eyes  of  the 
baron  glittered  with  joy  as  he  saw 
Trenck  take  out  a  pocket  -  book,  in 
which  he  knew  by  pleasant  experience 
that  the  young  oflBcer  sometimes  kej^t 
gold.  His  joy  was  of  short  duration. 
No  gold  was  seen.  Trenck  took  out  a 
small,  modest,  unsealed  paper  and 
handed  it  to  hira. 

"  Look  at  this  draft,"  said  he.  "  Had 
you  come  yesterday  I  could  have  ac- 
commodated you  joyfully.  To-day  it 
is  impossible.  I  have  this  morning 
lent  my  colonel  two  hundred  ducats, 
and  my  purse  is  empty." 

"  Well,  you  must  soon  fill  it,"  said 
Pollnitz,  with  a  coarse  laugh.  "  To-mor 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIEXDS. 


185 


row  at  five  you  will  enjoy  your  rendez- 
vous, and  you  will  not  only  speak  of 
jrod,  and  love,  and  the  stars,  but  also  a 
little  of  earthly  things — of  pomp  and 
gold,  and — Farewell ! " 

With  a  gay  laugh  Pollnitz  took  leave, 
but  he  no  sooner  found  himself  alone 
upon  the  street  than  his  face  grew 
black  and  his  eye  was  full  of  malice, 

"  He  has  no  gold  for  me,  but  I  have 
his  secret,  and  I  will  know  how  to 
squeeze  some  gold  out  of  that,"  mur- 
mured Pollnitz.  "  Truly  I  think  this 
secret  of  Trenck's  is  worth  some  thou- 
sand thalers,  and  the  king  must  find 
the  means  to  pay  for  it.  But  stop ! 
The  hour  of  my  interesting  rendezvous 
draws  near.  I  am  curious  to  know 
how  I  am  to  be  convinced  at  eleven 
o'clock,  and  in  the  middle  of  the 
street,  that  the  king  has  no  gold.  I 
will  be  punctual,  but  I  have  still  time 
to  visit  a  few  fiiends,  and  seek  if  possi- 
ble to  win  a  few  loids  d'ors  at  faio." 


CHAPTER  XVn. 

THE     SILVER-WARE. 

It  was  a  dark,  still  night.  As  the 
clock  struck  ten  the  night  might  really 
be  said  to  begin  in  Berlin.  The  streets 
were  not  lighted  except  by  accidental 
rays  from  the  windows  and  the  car- 
riage-lamps, and  the  glare  of  torches 
carried  by  the  servants  who  accompa- 
nied their  masters  to  places  of  amuse- 
ment. By  eleven  o'clock  the  streets 
were  deserted.  Pollnitz  was  tberefore 
sure  to  meet  no  one  on  his  way  to  the 
castle.  He  directed  his  steps  to  that 
door  which  opened  upon  the  River 
Spree,  as  Frcdersdorf  had  advised  him. 

Silence  reigned  in  the  palace.  The 
sentinel  stepped  slowly  backward  and 
forward  in  the  courtyard,  and  in  the 


distance  was  heard  the  baying  of  twc 
hounds,  entertaining  each  other  with 
their  melancholy  music.  The  master 
of  ceremonies  began  to  be  impatient ; 
he  thought  that  the  impertinent  private 
secretary  had  been  indulging  in  some 
practical  joke  or  mystification  at  his 
expense ;  but  as  he  drew  near  to  the 
Spree,  he  heard  the  light  stroke  of  oars 
in  the  water.  Pollnitz  hastened  for- 
ward, and  his  eyes,  accustomed  to  the 
darkness,  discovered  a  skiff  drawn  up 
near  the  Elector's  Bridge. 

"  This  is  the  point !  here  we  must 
wait,"  whispered  a  manly  voice. 

"I  think  we  will  not  have  to  wait 
long,"  said  another.  "  I  see  lights  in 
the  windows." 

The  side  of  the  castle  next  the  Spree 
was  now  suddenly  lighted;  first  the 
upper  story,  then  the  lower,  and  a  pale 
light  was  now  seen  in  the  vestibule. 

"Truly,  I  have  not  been  deceived; 
something  is  going  on,"  said  Pollnitz, 
hastening  forward. 

As  he  entered  the  court,  a  curious 
train  was  seen  descending  the  steps.  In 
front  were  too  servants  with  torches ; 
they  were  followed  by  twelve  heyducka^ 
their  shoulders  weighed  down  with 
dishes,  cans,  cups,  plates,  whose  silver 
surface,  illumined  by  the  golden  glare 
of  the  torches,  seemed  to  dance  and 
glimmer  along  the  wall  and  steps  like 
"will  o'  the  wisps."  Two  servants 
with  towels  brought  up  the  rear,  and 
behind  these  the  pale,  sad  face  of  Fr©- 
dersdorf  was  seen. 

"You  are  punctual,"  said  he  to  Poll- 
nitz ;  "  you  w  ish  to  convince  yourself 
that  the  king  has  no  gold  ?  " 

"  Certainly  !  though  this  conviction 
will  deprive  me  of  my  last  hope,  and 
one  does  not  adopt  such  a  course  eager- 
ly." 

"  I  think  you  will  be  fully  convinced. 
Come,  let  us  follow  the  heyducks." 

He  took  the  arm  of  the  baron,  and 
they  soon  reached  the  border  of  th? 


136 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


Spree.  The  skiff,  which  had  been  ly- 
ing so  dark  and  still,  was  now  lighted 
by  the  torches  of  the  servants,  who 
ranged  themselves  on  each  side ;  it  was 
brilliantly  lighted,  and  great  activity 
prevailed.  The  twelve  heyduclcs,  bend- 
ing under  their  heavy  burden,  entered 
the  skiff,  and  piled  up  the  silver-ware, 
then  sprang  again  ashore. 

"  We  are  going  to  the  treasure-room, 
will  you  follow  us  ? "  said  Fredersdorf. 

"  Certainly  ;  if  not,  you  may  perhaps 
expect  to  leave  me  here  as  sentinel." 

"  That  is  not  at  all  necessary  ;  there 
are  some  soldiers  with  loaded  muskets 
in  the  skiff.     Come." 

Silently  and  hastily  they  all  mounted 
the  steps  and  reached  at  last  the  large 
room  where  the  royal  silver  had  been 
kept ;  the  door  was  open,  but  guarded 
by  sentinels,  and  Melchoir,  who  had 
had  the  silver  in  charge,  now  walked 
before  the  door  with  a  disturbed  and 
sad  visage. 

"May  I  enter,  Melchoir  ? "  said  P611- 
nitz  to  his  old  acquaintance,  greeting 
him  with  a  fiiendly  smile. 

"  There  is  no  necessity  to  ask,"  said 
Melchoir,  sadly.  "  My  kingdom  is  at 
an  end,  as  you  see,  when  the  silver  is 
gone ;  there  is  no  necessity  for  a  stew- 
ard, and  the  old  Melchoir  will  be  set 
aside,  with  all  those  who  remain  of  the 
good  old  times  of  the  ever-blessed  Fred- 
erick Wilham  ! " 

Pollnitz  entered  the  room  with  Fre- 
dersdorf, and  his  eyes  wandered  over 
the  rich  treasures  spread  out  before  him, 
and  which  the  lieyducks  were  now 
packing  in  large  sacks. 

"Oh  !  if  these  plates  and  dishes 
could  speak  and  converse  with  me, 
what  curious  things  we  would  have  to 
confide  to  each  other!"  said  Pollnitz, 
twirling  one  of  the  plates  between  his 
fingers.  "  How  often  have  I  dined 
from  your  rich  abundancfe !  Under  the 
first  pomp-and-splendor-loving  Freder- 
ick, you  furnished  me  with  gala  din- 


ners ;  under  the  parsimonious  Frederick 
William,  with  solid  family  dinners ! 
How  often  have  I  seen  my  smiling  face 
reflected  in  your  polished  sui-face !  how 
often  has  this  silver  fork  conveyed  the 
rarest  morsels  to  my  lips !  I  declare 
to  you,  Fredersdorf,  I  think  a  dinner- 
plate  fulfils  a  noble  mission ;  within  its 
narrow  bound  lies  the  bone  and  sinew, 
as  also  the  best  enjoyment  of  life.  But 
tell  me,  for  God's  sake,  how  can  you 
bear  that  these  rascals  should  handle 
the  king's  silver  so  roughly  ?  Only 
look,  now,  at  that  heyduck  ;  he  has  com- 
pletely doubled  up  one  of  those  beauti- 
ful salad-bowls,  in  order  to  force  it  into 
the  mouth  of  the  sack." 

"What  signifies,  dear  baron?  That 
said  salad-bowl  will  never  again  be 
used  for  salad ;  henceforth  it  is  only  sil- 
ver." 

"  You  speak  in  riddles,  and  I  do  not 
understand  you.  Well,  well,  those  fel- 
lows have  already  filled  their  twelve 
sacks,  and  this  room  is  now  as  empty  and 
forlorn  as  the  heart  of  an  old  bachelor. 
Now  tell  me  what  you  are  going  to  do 
with  all  these  treasures  ? " 

"  Can  you  not  guess  ? " 

"  I  think  the  king,  who  now  lives  in 
Potsdam,  needs  his  silver  service,  and 
as  he  does  not  wish  to  make  a  new 
purchase,  he  sends  to  Berlin  for  this. 
Am  I  right  ? " 

"  You  shall  soon  know.  Let  us  fol- 
low the  lieyduchs^  the  room  is  empty. 
Adieu,  Melchoir,  your  duties  will  be 
light  hereafter;  you  need  not  fear  the 
robbers.     Come,  baron." 

They  soon  reached  the  skiff,  and 
found  that  the  twelve  sacks  had  been 
placed  beside  the  huge  pile  of  dishes, 
plates,  etc. 

"  Alas !  "  said  Fredersdorf,  gloomily, 
"  all  this  might  have  been  avoided  if 
I  had  already  reached  the  goal  I  am 
aiming  at ;  if  I  had  fathomed  the  great 
mystery  which  God  has  suspended  over 
mankind,  upon  whose  sharp  angles  and 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT   AND   HIS   FRIENDS. 


137 


edges  thousands  of  learned  and  wise 
men  have  dashed  their  Israins  and  de- 
stroyed their  life's  happiness !  My  God ! 
I  have  accomplished  so  much,  so  little 
remains  to  be  done  !  let  me  only  find  a 
suflBciently  hardened  substance,  and  the 
work  is  done.  I  shall  have  laid  bare 
God's  great  mystery  —  I  shall  make 
gold!" 

"Do  you  think  ever  of  this,  Freders- 
dorf?" 

"  I  think  ever  of  this,  and  shall  think 
only  of  this  as  long  as  I  live.  This 
thought  swallows  up  all  other  thoughts ; 
it  has  destroyed  my  love,  my  rest,  my 
sleep,  my  earthly  happiness !  But  wait, 
Pollnitz,  only  wait ;  one  day  I  shall  lift 
the  philosopher's  stone,  and  make  gold. 
On  that  day  you  will  love  me  dearly. 
Baron  Pollnitz.  On  that  day  I  will 
not  be  obliged  to  prove  to  you,  as  I 
have  just  done,  that  the  king  has  no 
money." 

"I  have  seen  no  proofs  yet,"  said 
Pollnitz. 

"  You  shall  have  it  now,  baron,"  said 
Fredersdorf,  springing  into  the  skiff. 
"  Will  you  not  go  with  us  ?  Forwai-d, 
forward  at  once  1  " 

"  But  what  is  your  destination  ? " 

"  Come  nearer,  that  I  may  whisper  in 
your  ear." 

Pollnitz  bowed  his  head, 

"  AVe  are  going  to  the  mint,"  whis- 
pered Fredersdorf.  "All  this  beauti- 
ful silver  will  be  melted.  The  king 
will  give  no  more  dinners,  he  will  give 
battle.  The  king  changes  his  dishes 
and  plates  into  good  thalers  to  feed  his 
army.  And  now,  are  you  not  con- 
vinced that  the  king  has  no  money  to 
pay  your  debts  ? " 

"  I  am  convinced." 

"Then  farewell.  Take  the  rudder, 
boys,  and  go  forward  5  enter  the  arm 
of  the  Spree  which  flows  by  the  mint, 
and  theie  anchor.  The  mint  is  our 
i?oal." 

"The  mint  is  the  goal,"  murmured 


Pollnitz,  with  a  grim  look,  gazing  after 
the  skiff,  which  moved  slowly  over  the 
water,  and  which,  lighted  by  the  torch- 
es, shone  brilliantly  in  the  midst  of 
the  surrounding  darkness.  The  golden 
light,  playing  upon  the  lich  liveries  of 
the  heydudcs  and  the  tower  of  silver  in 
their  midst,  formed  a  scene  of  wonder 
and  enchantment. 

Pollnitz  watched  them  until  the 
torches  seemed  like  little  stars  in  the 
distance.  "  There  goes  all  the  pomp 
and  glory  of  the  world,  the  joys  of 
peace  and  luxurious  rest.  The  silver 
will  be  melted,  iron  and  steel  will  take 
its  place.  Yes,  the  iron  age  begins. 
Alas  !  it  begins  also  for  me — why  can- 
not I  go  into  the  mint,  and  be  melted 
down  with  these  plates  and  dishes  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XVm. 

THE   riRST   FLASH   OF   LIGHTSrCNG. 

During  this  night  Pollnitz  slept  but 
little;  when,  however,  he  rose  from 
his  couch  the  next  morning,  his  brow 
was  clear  and  his  countenance  gayer 
than  it  had  been  for  a  long  time ;  he 
had  made  his  plans,  and  was  convinced 
that  he  would  succeed. 

"I  will  earn  a  hundred  ducats,"  said 
he,  smilingly  to  himself,  as  in  a  superb 
toilet  he  left  his  dwelling,  "yes,  a  hun- 
dred ducats,  and  I  will  revenge  myself 
upon  the  king  for  that  trumpeting  and 
outcry.  This  shall  be  a  blessed  and 
beautiful  morning." 

He  walked  first  to  the  apartment 
of  Colonel  Jaschinsky,  and  announced 
himself  as  coming  upon  the  most  im- 
portant business.  The  colonel  hastened 
to  meet  him,  ready  to  be  of  service,  and 
full  of  curiosity. 

"  Lead  me  to  a  room  where  we  are 
absolutely  certain  not  to  be  ol  ka/irvcd  01 
listened  to,"  said  Pollnitz. 


188 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-rfOCCI;    OR, 


They  entered  the  colonel's  cabinet. 

"  Here,  baron,  we  are  secure." 

"  Without  circumlocution,  then,  sir 
count,  you  know  the  law  which  forbids 
officers  to  make  debts  ?  " 

"I  know  it,"  said  Jaschinsky,  turn- 
ing pale,  "and  I  believe  that  Baron 
Pollnitz  is  well  content  not  to  belong 
to  the  officers." 

"  Perhaps  you,  sir  count,  may  also 
cease  to  belong  to  them  ? " 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  said 
Jaschinsky,  anxiously. 

"I  mean  simply  that  Colonel  Jas- 
chinsky belongs  to  those  officers  who 
are  forbidden  to  make  debts,  but  that 
he  disregards  the  law." 

"You  came  here,  as  it  appears,  to 
threaten  me  ?  " 

"  No,  principally  to  warn  you ;  you 
know  that  the  king  is  particularly 
severe  against  his  body-guard.  You 
are  the  colonel  of  this  splendid  regi- 
ment, and  should,  without  doubt,  set 
the  other  officers  a  good  example.  I 
doubt  if  the  king  would  consider  that 
you  did  your  duty,  if  he  knew  that 
you  not  only  made  debts,  but  borrowed 
money  from  the  officers  of  your  own 
regiment." 

"Take  care  what  you  are  about  to 
do,  Baron  von  Pollnitz  !  "  said  Jas- 
chinsky, threateningly, 

Pollnitz  said,  smilingly:  "It  appears 
that  you  are  menacing  me — that  is 
wholly  unnecessary.  Listen  quietly  to 
what  I  have  to  say,  I  have  come  to 
arrange  a  little  matter  of  business  with 
you.  Day  before  yesterday  you  bor- 
rowed two  hundred  ducats  from  Bai'- 
on  Trenck.  Give  me  one  hundred  of 
them,  and  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor 
not  to  expose  you — deny  me,  and  I 
give  you  my  word  of  honor  I  will  go 
instantly  to  the  king,  and  relate  the 
whole  history.  You  know,  count,  you 
would  be  instantly  cashiered." 

"I  do  not  know  that  his  majesty 
would  grant  a  ready  belief  to  the  state- 


ment of  Baron  Pollnitz,  and  you  hu/e 
no  proof  to  confirm  it." 

"  I  have  proof.  You  gave  your  note 
for  the  money.  I  think  that  would  be 
convincing  testimony." 

The  count  was  pale  and  agitated. 
"If  I  give  you  a  hundred  ducats,  you 
promise  on  your  word  of  honor  not  to 
expose  me  to  the  king  ?  " 

"I  give  you  my  word  of  honor; 
more  than  that,  I  promise  you  to  de- 
fend you,  if  any  one  shall  accuse  you 
to  the  king." 

Jaschinsky  did  not  reply ;  he  stepped 
to  his  desk  and  took  out  two  rolls  of 
ducats.  "Baron,"  said  he,  "here  is 
half  of  the  money  I  l)orrowed  from 
Trenck  ;  before  I  hand  it  to  you  I  have 
one  request  to  make." 

"  Well,  speak." 

"  How  did  you  learn  that  I  borrowed 
this  money  ? " 

"  I  saw  your  note  which  you  gave  to 
Trenck." 

"  Ah !  he  showed  it  to  you,"  cried 
Jaschinsky,  with  such  an  expression  of 
hate,  scorn,  and  revenge,  that  even  Poll- 
nitz was  moved  by  it. 

He  took  the  gold  and  let  it  glide  slow- 
ly into  his  pocket.  "  I  owe  you  a  hun- 
dred ducats ;  I  cannot  promise  you  to  re- 
turn them;  but  I  can  promise  you  that 
Trenck  will  never  produce  your  draft, 
and  I  will  show  you  how  to  revenge 
yourself  upon  the  handsome  officer." 

"  If  you  assist  me  in  that,  I  will  pre- 
sent you  with  my  best  horso." 

"  You  shall  be  revenged,''  said  Poll 
nitz,  solemnly.  "You  can  send  the 
horse  to  my  stable;  Frederick  von 
Trenck  will  soon  cease  to  be  dangerous 
to  any  one ;  he  is  a  lost  man ! — And 
now  to  the  king,"  said  Pollnitz,  as  he 
left  the  colonel's  quarters.  "  Yes,  to 
the  king;  I  must  thank  him  for  the 
confidence  he  showed  me  last  night." 

The  king  was  making  his  prepara- 
tions for  war  with  the  most  profound 
secrecy  ;  he  worked  only  at  night,  and 


niEDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


139 


ijave  up  his  entire  time  seemingly  to 
pleasures  and  amusements.  He  was 
daily  occupied  with  concerts,  balls, 
operas,  and  ballets;  lie  had  just  re- 
turned from  seeing  the  rehearsal  of  a 
new  opera,  in  which  Barbarina  danced ; 
he  was  gay  and  gracious. 

He  received  his  master  of  ceremonies 
jestingly,  and  asked  him  if  he  came  to 
announce  that  he  had  become  a  Jew. 
"  You  have  tried  every  other  religion  at 
least  twice ;  I  know  that  you  have  had 
of  late  much  to  do  with  the  'chosen 
people ; '  I  suppose  you  are  now  full  of 
religious  zeal,  and  wish  to  turn  Is- 
raelite. It  would,  perhaps,  be  a  wise 
operation.  The  Jews  have  plenty  of 
gold,  and  they  would  surely  aid  with 
all  their  strength  their  new  and  distin- 
guished brother.  Speak,  then,  make 
known  your  purpose." 

"  I  came  to  thank  your  majesty  for 
the  supper  you  graciously  accorded  me 
last  night." 

"  A  supper !  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Your  majesty,  through  your  private 
secretary,  invited  me  to  table,  with  all 
your  splendid  silver-ware.  Truly  the 
meal  was  indigestible  and  lies  like  a 
stone  upon  my  stomach  ;  but,  I  say  with 
the  good  soldiers,  after  the  lash,  'I 
tnank  your  majesty  for  gracious  punish- 
ment.' " 

"  You  are  an  intolerable  fool ;  but 
mark  me,  not  a  word  of  what  you  have 
seen !  I  wished  to  prove  to  you  that  I 
had  no  money,  and  to  be  freed  from 
your  everlasting  complaints  and  peti- 
tions, I  have  therefore  allowed  you  to 
see  that  my  silver  has  gone  to  the  mint. 
It  is  to  be  hoped  that  you  will  now 
compose  yourself,  and  seek  no  more 
gold  from  me.  Do  not  ask  gold  of 
kings,  but  of  Jews.  Kings  are  poor,  the 
poorest  people  of  the  state,  for  they 
have  no  personal  property."  * 

"  Oh,  that  the  whole  world  could  hear 

•  The  king*!  own  words. 


the  exalted  and  high-hearted  words  of 
my  king ! "  cried  Pollnitz,  with  well- 
acted  enthusiasm.  "Thrice  blessed  is 
that  nation  which  has  such  a  ruler !  " 

The  king  looked  at  him  searchingly. 
"  You  flatter  me ;  you  want  something, 
of  course." 

"  No,  sire,  I  swear  I  come  with  the 
purest  intentions." 

"  Intentions  ?  You  have,  then,  inten- 
tions ? " 

"  Yes,  sire,  but  now  that  I  stand  here 
face  to  face  with  you,  I  feel  that  my 
courage  fails,  and  I  cannot  speak  what 
I  intended." 

''Now  truly,"  said  the  king,  laugh- 
ing, "  the  cii'cumstances  must  indeed  be 
dangerous  which  deprive  Baron  Poll- 
nitz of  the  power  of  speech." 

"  Words,  your  majesty,  are  important 
things.  Once  a  few  words  saved  me 
from  death;  it  may  be  that  a  few 
words,  spoken  this  day  to  your  majesty, 
may  bring  me  into  disfavor,  and  that 
would  be  worse  than  death." 

"  What  were  the  words  which  saved 
you  from  death  ?  " 

"These,  sire:  ^  Va-t-en,  noUe  giier- 
rier  ! ' " 

"  This  took  place  in  France  ? " 

"  In  Paris,  sire.  I  was  dining  in  a 
small  hotel  in  the  village  of  Etampes, 
near  Paris.  A  very  elegant  cavalier  sat 
next  me,  and  from  time  to  time,  as  if 
accidentally,  addressed  me  in  a  refined 
and  winning  way ;  he  informed  himself 
as  to  my  intentions  and  circumstances, 
I  was  an  inexperienced  youth,  and 
the  cavalier  was  adroit  in  questioning. 
This  was  at  the  time  of  the  Mississippi 
speculation  of  the  great  financier  Law 
I  had  gained  that  day,  in  the  Rue  Quin- 
quempois,  the  sum  of  four  hundred 
thousand  francs.  I  had  this  money 
with  me,  and  after  dinner  I  proposed 
to  go  to  Versailles.  I  was  not  without 
apprehension,  the  streets  were  unsafe, 
and  Cartouclie  with  his  whole  band  or 
robbers  had  for  some  time  taken  p'^s 


140 


BERLIN  AND  SANS^OUCI;    OR. 


session  of  the  environs  of  Paris,  and 
made  them  the  theatre  of  his  daring 
deeds." 

''  So  you  received  j'our  new  friend 
trustingly  ? "  said  the  king,  laughing 
heartily. 

"  Yes,  sire,  and  we  had  just  agreed  as 
to  the  hour  of  our  departure,  when  a 
little  maiden  appeared  under  the  win- 
dow of  our  dining-room  and  sang  in  a 
loud,  clear  voice,  '  Va-t-en,  noble  guer- 
rier!''  The  strange  cavalier  rose  and 
stepped  to  the  window  to  give  her  a 
few  sous,  then  went  out — and  I  saw 
him  no  more." 

"You  conclude  from  this  that  the 
words  of  the  song  saved  your  life  ?  you 
think  the  man  witli  whom  you  were 
eating  was  a  poisoner  ?  " 

"  I  thought  nothing,  sire,  and  forgot 
the  adventure.  A  year  after,  I  was 
standing  in  the  street  as  Cartouche  was 
being  led  to  execution.  All  Paris  was 
abroad  to  see  the  famous  brigand.  I 
had  a  good  place,  the  procession  passed 
immediately  by  me ;  and  look  you,  I 
recognized,  in  the  poor  sinner  now  be- 
ing led  to  execution,  the  elegant  gentle- 
man of  the  cabaret  at  Etampes !  He 
knew  me  also  and  stood  still  for  a  mo- 
ment. '  Sir,'  said  he,  '  I  dined  with 
you  a  year  ago.  The  words  of  an  old 
song  gave  me  notice  to  leave  the  cabaret 
immediately.  They  announced  to  me 
that  the  pursuers  were  on  my  heels ;  your 
star  was  in  the  ascendant,  stranger ;  had 
I  accompanied  you  to  Versailles,  you 
would  have  lost  your  gold  and  your 
life.'  Your  majesty  will  now  understand 
that  these  words, '  Va-t-en,  noble  guer- 
riei;''  saved  my  life." 

"  I  confess  it,  and  I  am  now  most 
curious  to  hear  the  words  Avhich  you 
fear  will  bring  my  displeasure  upon 
you." 

"  Sire,  I  have  been  for  more  than 
forty  years  a  faithful  servant  of  your 
exalted  house.  Will  you  not  admit 
this  i " 


"Faithful?"  repeated  Frederick; 
"  you  were  faithful  to  us  when  it  was 
to  your  advantage:  you  deserted  us 
when  you  thought  it  to  your  interest  to 
do  so.  I  reproached  you  with  this  in 
former  times,  but  now  that  I  know  the 
world  better,  I  forgive  you.  Go  on, 
then,  with  your  pathetic  appeal." 

"  Your  majesty  has  often  commanded 
me  to  make  known  to  you  every  thing 
which  the  good  people  say  of  your 
royal  family,  and  when  any  one  dai*ed 
to  whisper  a  slander  against  you  or 
yours,  to  inform  you  of  it  at  once." 

"  Does  any  one  dare  to  do  that  ? "  said 
the  king,  with  an  expression  of  anguish 
upon  his  noble  face. 

"  Yes,  sire." 

The  king  breathed  a  heavy  sigh,  and 
walked  hastily  up  aud  down ;  then  pla- 
cing himself  before  the  window,  and 
turning  his  back  on  Pollnitz,  he  said. 
"  Go  on." 

"  Sire,  it  is  lightly  whispered  that  the 
young  Lieutenant  Trenck  has  dared  to 
love  a  lady  who  is  so  far  above  him 
in  her  bright  radiance  and  royal  birth, 
that  he  should  not  dare  to  lift  his  eyes 
to  her  face  except  in  holy  reverence." 

"  I  have  been  told  that  he  was  the 
lover  of  Mademoiselle  von  Marwitz," 
said  the  king. 

"  The  world  and  the  good  Berliners 
believe  that,  but  the  initiated  know  that 
this  pretended  love  is  only  a  veil  thrown 
by  the  bold  youth  over  a  highly  traitor- 
ous passion." 

Pollnitz  was  silent;  he  waited  for  the 
king  to  speak,  and  watched  him  with  a 
malignant  smile.  Frederick  still  stood 
with  his  face  to  the  window,  and  saw 
nothing  of  th's. 

"  Shall  I  go  on  ?  "  said  Pollnitz  at  last. 

"  I  command  you  to  do  so,"  said  the 
king. 

Pollnitz  drew  nearer.  "  Sire,"  said 
he,  half  aloud,  "  allow  mc  to  say  what 
no  one  knows  but  myself.  Baron  Trenck 
visits  Mademoiselle  von  Marwitz  every 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


141 


day,  but  a  tliird  person  is  ever  present 
at  these  interviews." 

"  And  this  third  person  is — " 

"  The  Princess  Amelia ! " 

The  king  turned  hastily,  and  the 
glance  which  he  fixed  upon  Pollnitz 
was  so  flashing,  so  threatening,  that 
even  the  bold  and  insolent  master  of 
ceremonies  trembled.  "Are  you  con- 
vinced of  the  truth  of  what  you  have 
stated  ? "  said  lie,  harshly. 

''  Sire,"  said  he,  "  if  you  wish  to  con- 
vince yourself,  it  is  only  neccssaiy  to 
go  this  evening  between  five  and  six 
o'clock,  unannounced,  into  the  rooms 
of  the  Princess  Amelia.  You  will  then 
see  that  I  have  spoken  truth." 

Frederick  did  not  reply ;  he  stepped 
again  to  the  window,  and  looked  si- 
lently into  the  street.  Once  more  he 
turned  to  Pollnitz,  and  his  face  was 
clear  and  smiling. 

"Pollnitz,  you  are  an  old  fox,  but 
you  have  laid  your  foundation  badly, 
and  your  whole  plot  is  poorly  conceived. 
Look  you !  I  understand  this  intrigue 
perfectly.  You  hate  poor  Trenck;  I 
have  long  seen  that.  You  hate  him 
because  I  honor  and  promote  him,  and 
you  courtiers  always  regard  those  as 
your  enemies  Avho  stand  higher  in  favor 
than  yourself.  Trenck  deserves  his 
good  fortune,  in  spite  of  his  youth  ;  he 
is  a  learned  and  accomplished  officer, 
and  a  most  amiable  and  elegant  gentle- 
man. You  cannot  forgive  him  for  this, 
and  therefore  you  accuse  him.  This 
time  you  shall  not  succeed.  I  tell  you 
I  don't  believe  one  word  of  this  silly 
scandal.  I  will  forget  what  you  have 
dared  to  say  ;  but  look  to  it,  that  you 
also  forget.  "Woe  to  you  if  you  do  not 
forget ;  woe  to  you  if  your  lips  ever  again 
utter  this  folly  to  me  or  to  any  other 
person  !  I  hold  you  wholly  responsible. 
In  your  own  mad,  malicious  brain  is 
this  fairy  tale  conceived ;  it  will  be 
your  fault  if  it  goes  farther,  and  is  ever 
fcpoken   of.     Conform  yourself  to  this, 


sir,  and  retreat  in  time.  I  repeat  to  you, 
I  hold  you  responsible.  Now  go,  with- 
out a  word,  and  sand  me  my  adjutant 
— it  is  high  time  for  parade." 

"Flashed  in  the  pan,  completely 
flashed,"  said  Pollnitz  to  himself,  as 
with  a  courtly  bow  and  a  smiling  lip 
he  took  leave  of  the  king.  "I  had 
hoped  at  least  for  a  small  reward,  if  it 
was  only  to  see  that  I  had  made  him 
angry.  Alas  !  this  man  is  invulnerable ; 
all  my  files  wear  away  on  him." 

Could  he  have  seen  what  an  expres- 
sion of  care  and  anguish  overshadowed 
the  king's  face  when  he  was  alone — 
could  he  have  heard  the  king's  sighs 
and  the  broken  words  of  sorrow  and 
despair  which  he  uttered,  the  wicked 
heart  of  the  master  of  ceremonies  would 
have  been  filled  with  gladness.  But 
Frederick  indulged  himself  in  this 
weakness  but  a  short  time ;  he  drew 
his  royal  mantle  over  his  aching  heart, 
he  cast  the  veil  of  sadness  from  his 
eyes,  and  armed  them  with  the  might 
of  majesty. 

"  This  rendezvous  shall  not  take  place ; 
this  romantic  adventure  shall  come  to 
an  end.  I  will  it!  "  said  he,  with  an 
energy  which  only  those  can  feel  whose 
will  is  law,  and  from  whose  words 
there  is  no  appeal. 

Frederick  took  his  hat  and  entered 
the  vestibule,  where  his  staff"  awaited  to 
accompany  him  to  the  parade.  The 
king  greeted  them  all  sternly,  and  pass- 
ing by  them  rapidly,  he  descended  the 
steps. 

"  The  king  is  very  ungracious," 
whispered  the  officers  amongst  each 
other.  "  Woe  to  him  upon  whom  his 
anger  falls  to-day ! " 

A  s  orm-cloud  did  indeed  rest  upon 
the  brow  of  the  king ;  his  eye  looked 
fierce  and  dangerous.  The  regiment 
stood  in  line,  the  king  drew  up  in  iront  ] 
suddenly  he  paused,  his  face  grew 
black — his  eye  had  found  an  object  for 
destruction. 


142 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


"  Lieutenant  Trenck,"  said  he,  in  a 
loud  and  threatening  tone,  "  you  have 
this  moment  arrived,  jou  are  again  too 
late.  I  demand  of  my  ofEcere  that  they 
shall  be  punctual  in  my  service.  More 
than  once  have  I  shown  you  considera- 
tion, and  you  seem  to  be  incurable.  I 
■will  now  try  the  power  of  severity. — 
Colonel  Jaschiusky,  Lieutenant  Trenck 
is  in  arrest,  till  you  hear  further  fi-om 
me ;  take  his  sword  from  him,  and 
transport  him  to  Potsdam." 

The  king  j^assed  on ;  the  cloud  had 
discharged  itself;  his  brow  was  clear, 
and  he  conversed  cordially  with  his 
generals.  He  did  not  give  one  glance 
to  the  poor  young  ofBcer,  who,  pale  and 
sijeechless,  handed  his  sword  to  his 
malicious  colonel,  looked  with  anguish 
inexpressible  toward  the  castle  of  Mon- 
bijou,  and  followed  the  two  officers 
whose  duty  it  was  to  conduct  him  to 
Potsdam. 

That  afternoon  Mademoiselle  von 
Marwitz  waited  in  vain  for  her  lover ; 
that  afternoon  the  Princess  Amelia 
shed  her  first  tears;  and  for  the  first 
time,  entered  the  ballroom,  by  the  side 
of  her  royal  mother,  with  dejected 
mien  and  weary  eyes.  The  glare  of 
light,  the  sound  of  music,  the  laugh 
and  jest  of  the  gay  crowd,  filled  her 
oppressed  heart  with  indescribable 
woe.  She  longed  to  utter  one  mad  cry 
and  rush  away,  far  aAvay  from  all 
this  pomp  and  splendor ;  to  take  refuge 
in  her  dark  and  lonely  room  ;  to  weep, 
to  pray,  and  thus  exhaust  her  sorrow 
and  her  fears. 

Perhaps  the  king  read  something  of 
this  fierce  emotion  in  the  face  of  the 
urincess.  He  drew  near  to  her,  and 
raking  her  hand  kindly,  he  led  her 
away  from  her  mother,  "  My  sister," 
he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  but  in  a  tone 
which  made  the  heart  of  the  piin- 
ces3  tremble, — "  my  sister,  banifth  the 
cloud  from  your  brow,  and  call  the 
smiles  to  your  young,  fresh  lips.    It  ill 


becomes  a  princess  to  be  seen  at  a  fet4 
with  a  sad  visage ;  melancholy,  this 
evening,  will  be  particularly  unseemly. 
Be  on  your  guard  ;  you  must  not  decline 
a  single  dance ;  I  wish  this  as  your 
brother,  I  command  it  as  your  king. 
Conform  yourself  to  this.  Do  you  un- 
derstand fully  all  that  I  have  said  to 
you,  and  all  that  I  have  not  said  ?  " 

"I  understand  all,  your  majesty," 
whispered  Amelia,  with  the  greatest 
difficulty  keeping  back  the  tears  which, 
''  like  a  proud  river,  peering  o'er  its 
bounds,"  filled  her  eyes  to  overflowing. 

Princess  Amelia  danced  the  whole 
evening,  she  appeared  gay  and  happy ; 
but  it  did  not  escape  the  watchful  eye 
of  the  Baron  Pollnitz  that  her  smile 
was  fijrced  and  her  gayety  assumed ; 
that  her  eye  wandered  with  an  expres- 
sion of  terror  toward  the  king,  who  was 
ever  observing  her.  Suddenly  all  was 
changed,  and  she  became  radiant  with 
the  fire  of  youth  and  happiness.  Made- 
moiselle von  Marwitz,  while  the  princess 
stood  near  her  in  the  Fran^aise,  had 
whispered :  "  Compose  yourself,  your 
royal  highness,  there  is  no  danger.  He 
has  been  arrested  for  some  small  mili- 
tary oflfence,  that  is  all !  "  Here  wag 
indeed  jieace  and  comfort.  Amelia 
had  been  tortured  by  the  most  agoniz- 
ing fears,  and  this  news  was  like  a  mes- 
senger of  peace  and  love.  A  military 
oflfence — that  was  a  small  afixiir.  A 
few  days  of  light  confinement,  and  he 
would  return ;  she  would  see  him  again ; 
and  those  blessed  interviews,  those  glo- 
rious hours  of  rapture,  Avould  be  re- 
newed. 

The  princess  had  deceived  herself. 
Several  days  elapsed,  and  Trenck  did 
not  return,  and  she  knew  nothing  more 
than  that  he  was  in  Potsdam  under 
arrest.  Eight  days  had  passed  on 
leaden  wings,  and  still  he  en  me  not. 
This  severe  punishment  for  a  small  of- 
fence began  to  be  resented  by  Trenck'a 
comrades;     they    did     not     dare    to 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


143 


nnirmur,  but  their  countenances  were 
clouded. 

"  Colonel  Jascliinsky,"  said  the  king, 
on  the  ninth  morning,  "  go  to  Trcnck 
and  counsel  him  to  ask  for  my  forgive- 
ness ;  say  to  him,  that  you  believe  I  will 
forgive  him,  if  he  asks  for  pardon.  You 
shall  not  say  this  officially,  only  as  a 
friend.  Remark  well  what  he  shall 
answer,  and  report  it  to  me  strictly," 

The  colonel  returned  in  an  hour, 
with  a  well-pleased  smile. 

"  Well,  will  he  ask  for  forgiveness  ?  " 
said  the  king. 

"  No,  your  rnajesty ;  he  asserts  that  for 
a  small  fault  he  has  been  too  harshly 
punished,  and  he  will  not  bow  so  low 
as  to  plead  against  an  injustice." 

"  Let  him  remain  in  aiTest,"  said  Fred- 
erick, dismissing  Jascliinsky. 

The  king  was  alone  ;  he  walked  up 
and  down  with  his  arms  folded,  as 
was  his  custom,  when  engaged  in  deep 
thought.  "  A  head  of  iron,  a  heart  of 
fire  !  "  murmured  he  ;  "  both  so  young, 
so  proud,  so  fond,  and  all  this  I  must 
destroy.  I  must  pluck  every  leaf  from 
this  fair  blossom.  Sad  mission  !  Wliy 
must  I  cease  to  be  a  man,  because  I  am 
a  king  ? " 

Eight  days  again  went  by  —  eight 
days  of  fetes,  concerts,  balls.  The 
princess  dared  not  absent  herself;  she 
appeared  nightly  in  costly  toilet,  with 
glowing  cheeks,  and  her  lovely  hair 
adorned  with  flowers,  but  her  cheeks 
were  rouged,  and  her  sad  smile  accord- 
ed but  little  with  her  flowers. 

The  king  had  carried  on  diligently 
but  secretly  his  preparations  for  war, 
under  the  shadow  of  these  luxurious 
festivities.  Now  all  was  ready ;  he 
could  lay  aside  his  mask  and  his  em- 
broidered dress,  and  assume  his  uniform. 
The  ballroom  was  closed,  the  music  sil- 
enced, the  silver  melted  into  thalers. 
The  king  left  Berlin  and  joined  his  gen- 
erals at  Potsdam.  On  the  day  of  his 
arrival  he  commissioned  his  adjutant, 


General  von  Borck,  to  release  Trenck 
from  arrest,  and  send  him  to  Berlin 
with  a  letter  to  the  queen-mother ;  he 
was  to  have  leave  of  absence  till  the 
next  day. 

"  I  will  see,  now,  if  they  understood 
me,"  said  Frederick  to  himself  "I 
have  given  them  a  hard  lesson  ;  if  they 
do  not  profit  by  it,  they  are  incurable, 
and  force  me  to  extremity." 

Alas  !  they  had  not  understood  this 
hard  lesson ;  they  were  not  wise,  not 
prudent ;  they  would  not  see  the 
sharp  sword  suspended  over  their 
heads :  tlieir  arms  were  madly  thrown 
around  each  other,  and  they  did  not 
grasp  this  only  anchor  of  safety  which 
the  fond  brother,  and  not  the  stem 
king,  had  extended  to  them.  They 
were  lost !  they  must  go  down  to  de- 
struction ! 

The  next  morning,  during  the  parade, 
Trenck  drew  near  the  king.  He  had 
just  returned  from  Berlin ;  his  cheeks 
were  glowing  from  his  rapid  ride,  and 
in  his  eyes  there  was  still  a  shimmer  of 
that  happiness  with  which  the  presence 
of  his  beloved  had  inspired  him. 

"  Your  majesty,  I  announce  myself," 
said  he,  in  a  fresh  and  gay  voice. 

The  king  said  nothing.  He  looked 
at  the  handsome,  healthy,  and  radiant- 
youth  with  a  glance  of  profound  sym- 
pathy and  regret. 

Frederick  von  Trenck  saw  nothing 
of  this.  "  Does  your  majesty  command 
me  to  join  my  regiment  at  Berlin  ? " 
said  he,  in  the  most  unembarrassed 
manner. 

And  now  the  king's  eyes  flashed 
with  rage.  "  From  whence  come  you  ?  " 
said  he,  sternly. 

"From  Berlin,  sire." 

"  Where  were  you  before  you  were 
sent  to  Berlin  ?  " 

"  In  arrest,  sire." 

"Go,  then,  to  your  old  place — that 
is  to  say,  in  arrest  1 " 

Frederick  von  Trenck  remaine^l    w 


144 


BERLIN   AND  SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


arrest  until  every  preparation  was 
completed.  The  army  was  ready  to 
march.  The  king  assembled  his  officers, 
and  announced  to  them  that  they  were 
bound  once  more  to  Silesia  tc  bloody 
battle,  and,  with  God's  help,  to  glorious 
victory.  On  that  day  Frederick  von 
Trenck  was  released  from  arrest.  The 
king  received  him  with  a  gracious 
snvile,  and  commanded  him  to  remain 
near  him.  Trenck's  comrades  envied 
him  because  of  the  royal  favor ;  because 
of  the  friendly  smiles  and  gracious 
woi'ds  which,  more  than  once  during 
the  day,  the  king  directed  to  him.  No 
one  understood  how  Trenck  could  re- 
main sad  and  silent  under  all  these  evi- 
dences of  royal  favor ;  no  one  under- 
stood how  this  gallant  young  officer 
could  enter  upon  this  campaign  with 
bowed  head  and  heavy  brow  ;  he  should 


have  sat  upon  his  horse  proud  and 
erect — not  dreaming,  not  lost  in  melar» 
choly  musing. 

No  one  but  the  king  could  compre- 
hend this ;  his  sympathetic  soul  wa^ 
touched  by  every  emotion  of  his  young 
officer,  and  he  had  pity  for  every  pang 
he  infficted.  All  this  vast  crowd  of 
men  had  taken  leave  of  those  they 
loved  and  cherished.  Trenck  alone 
had  been  denied  this  solace.  They  had 
all  received  a  love-greeting,  a  blessing, 
and  a  last  fond  kiss — a  last  tear  to  en- 
courage them  in  battle,  perhaps  in 
death.  Trenck  had  no  kiss,  no  bless- 
ing, no  farewell.  Pie  had  said  farewell 
to  fortune,  to  love,  and  hope ;  and  even 
now,  though  marching  to  battle,  per- 
haps to  victory,  he  had  no  future. 
Tears  were  flowing  for  him,  and  tears 
would  be  his  only  inheritance. 


BOOK   III 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   ACTORS  IN  HALLE. 

His  excellency,  Gotshilf  Augustus 
Franke,  president  of  the  university  at 
Halle,  bore  unmistakable  marks  of 
anger  and  excitement  upon  his  usually 
calm  countenance,  as,  seated  at  his 
study-table,  he  glanced  from  time  to 
time  at  a  paper  spread  out  before  him. 

The  entrance  of  two  of  his  friends 
and  colleagues  seemed  scarcely  to  in- 
terrupt his  disagreeable  train  of 
thought,  as  he  bade  them  good-morn- 
ing, and  thanked  them  for  coming  to 
him  so  promptly. 

"  I  have  requested  your  presence,  my 
friends,"  he  continued,  "  to  inform  you 
of  the  receipt  of  the  answer  to  the  pe- 
tition which  we  presented  to  the  Gen- 
eral Directory." 

"  Ah,  then,"  cried  Professor  Bierman, 
"  our  troubles  are  at  an  end ! " 

"Not  so,"  said  Professor  Franke, 
gloomily ;  "  the  wishes  of  the  servants 
of  the  Lord  do  not  always  meet  with 
the  approbation  of  kings.  King  Fred- 
erick the  Second  has  refused  our  peti- 
tion which  was  presented  to  him  by 
the  General  Directory." 

"Refused  it?"  exclaimed  the  two 
professors. 

"  Yes,  refused  it ;  he  declares  that  he 

10 


will  not  allow  the  actors  to  be  expelled 
from  Halle,  until  it  can  be  satisfactorily 
proved  that  they  have  occasioned  pub- 
lic disturbances  in  our  midst." 

"This  is  unheard-of  injustice,"  ex- 
claimed Professor  Bierman. 

"  It  is  a  new  proof  of  the  king's  utter 
godlessness,"  said  Professor  Heinrich. 
"  He  has  already  gone  so  far  as  to  de- 
clare that  these  actors  shall  receive 
Christian  burial." 

"  Astounding  ! "  cried  the  president. 
"This  is  a  sacrilege,  which  will  as- 
suredly meet  a  just  punishment.  But," 
he  continued  after  a  pause,  glancing 
anxiously  around,  "let  us  not  forget 
that  we  are  speaking  of  our  king." 

"  He  seems  to  forget  that  even  kings 
are  but  the  servants  of  the  Lord.  Hia 
acts  show  a  determination  to  destroy 
the  church  and  its  supporters." 

"  Your  remark  is,  I  fear,  too  true," 
answered  Professor  Franke;  "but  the 
object  of  our  meeting  was  not  to  dis- 
cuss the  king,  but  to  discover,  if  possi- 
ble, some  means  of  extricating  ourselves 
from  the  disagreeable  position  in  which 
we  have  been  placed  by  the  unexpected 
refusal  of  our  petition.  We  were  so 
confident  of  a  different  answer  to  our 
just  demand,  and  have  expressed  this 
confidence  so  publicly,  that,  when  the 
result  is  known,  we  shall  be  ridiculed 
by  both  citizens  and  students." 

While  the  worthy  professors  werf 


146 


BERLIN  AND   PANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


still  deep  in  their  discussion,  tliey  were 
interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a  ser- 
vant, who  announced  that  there  was  a 
gentleman  at  the  door,  who  called  him- 
self Eckhof,  and  who  desired  to  be  ad- 
mitted to  President  Franke. 

"Eckhof!"  exclaimed  all  three,  and 
the  two  friends  looked  mistrustfully  at 
Franke. 

"Eckhof!  Do  you  receive  Eck- 
hof? " 

"  Does  this  actor  dare  to  cross  your 
threshold?" 

"  It  appears  so,"  cried  Franke,  an- 
grily. "  He  has  the  boldness  to  force 
himself  into  my  presence,  —  Let  him 
enter;  we  will  then  hear  how  he  justi- 
fies this  intrusion." 

As  Eckhof  entered  the  room,  the 
three  professors  remained  seated,  as  if 
awaiting  the  approach  of  a  criminal. 

Apparently  unmoved  by  this  want  of 
courtesy,  Eckhof  advanced  to  the  presi- 
dent, and,  after  making  a  respectful 
bow,  offered  him  his  hand. 

Franke,  ignoring  this  movement, 
asked,  without  changing  his  position, 
to  what  singular  accident  he  might  at- 
tribute the  honor  of  this  visit. 

Eckhof  appeared  grieved  and  aston- 
ished at  the  reception,  but  replied,  "  I 
came,  your  excellency,  to  ask  a  favor. 
My  friends  have  determined  to  give  me 
a  benefit  to-night,  and  we  have  selected 
Voltaire's  wonderful  tragedy, '  Britanni- 
cus,'  for  our  performance.  The  tickets 
ai'e  all  sold,  two  hundred  of  them  to 
students.  There  is,  however,  one  thing 
wanting  to  make  the  evening  all  I 
would  wish,  and  that  is  the  presence  of 
your  excellency  and  some  of  the  pro- 
fessors at  the  representation.  Therefore 
I  am  here,  and  have  taken  the  liberty 
of  bringing  these  tickets,  which  I  beg 
you  will  accept  for  the  use  of  yourself 
and  your  brother  professors,"  and,  bow- 
jig  once  more,  he  placed  the  tickets 
upon  the  talile  before  which  he  was 
standing. 


"  Are  you  so  lost,  sir,  to  all  sense  of 
propriety,"  cried  Franke,  "  as  to  be- 
lieve that  I,  the  president  of  the  uni- 
versity, a  professor  of  theology,  and  a 
doctor  of  philosophy,  would  enter  your 
unholy,  God -forsaken  theatre?  No, 
sir,  even  in  this  degenerate  age,  we 
have  not  fallen  so  low,  that  the  men  of 
God  are  to  be  found  in  such  places." 

"  These  are  very  hard  and  unchris- 
tian words,  your  excellency.  Professor 
and  Doctor  Franke, — words  which  no 
Christian,  no  man  of  learning,  no  gen- 
tleman should  employ.  But  I,  although 
a  poor  actor,  bearing  no  distinguished 
title,  will  only  remember  what  is  be- 
coming for  a  Christian,  and  will  say,  in 
the  words  of  our  Lord,  '  Father,  forgive 
them,  they  not  know  what  they  do.' " 

"  Those  holy  words  become  a  blas- 
phemy on  your  lips,"  said  Professor 
Heim-ich,  solemnly. 

"  And  still  I  repeat 'them  :  '  Father, 
forgive  them,  they  know  not  what  they 
do.'  Do  you  not  know  that,  in  judg- 
ing me,  you  condemn  yourselves  ?  I 
came  into  your  i^resence,  hoping  to 
reconcile  the  difficulties  and  misun- 
derstanding which  I  heard  had  been  oc- 
casioned by  the  theatre  between  the 
professors  and  the  students ;  but  you 
have  treated  me  with  scorn  and  de- 
clined my  assistance,  and  nothing 
remains  for  me  but  to  bid  you  farewell, 
most  learned  and  worthy  men." 

lie  bowed  ceremoniously,  and  passed 
out,  without  again  glancing  at  the 
indignant  professors,  and  joined  Joseph 
Fredersdorf,  who  awaited  him  below. 

"Well,  did  they  accept  your  invita- 
tion ? " 

"  No,  my  friend,  all  happened  as  you 
predicted:  they  refused  it  with  scorn 
and  indignation." 

"  Now  you  will  agree  with  me  that 
we  can  hope  to  do  nothing  in  Halle." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right,  I  fear,  Joseph  ; 
but  let  us  dismiss  so  painful  a  subject. 
We  will  now  go  to  our  rehearsal,  and 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


147 


*'e  must  perform  our  tragedy  with 
such  care  and  in  sucli  a  manner  that 
the  thunders  of  applause  which  we  re- 
ceive will  reach  the  ears  of  our  ene- 
mies," 

Tlie  three  professors  were  still  in  the 
room  of  the  president,  in  earnest  con- 
sultation, 

"  So  this  miserable  Eckhof  is  to  have 
what  he  calls  a  benefit  to-night  ? "  said 
iie  president. 

"  Two  hundred  students  will  be  pres- 
ent," groaned  Professor  Heinrich, 

"  And  our  lecture-halls  will  be  emp- 
ty. 

''  We  must  exert  our  energies  and 
put  a  stop  to  these  proceedings;  it  is 
scandalous  that  our  students  have  for- 
saken their  studies  to  run  after  these 
actors." 

"  Truly  something  must  be  done,  for 
not  only  our  fame  but  our  purses  are  at 
stake." 

"This  evil  cannot  continue;  we  must 
take  prompt  measures  to  root  it  out," 
said  the  president,  "The  General  Di- 
rectory decided  that  the  actors  should 
not  be  expelled  from  Halle,  unless  it 
could  be  proved  that  they  had  been 
the  occasion  of  some  public  difficulty. 
It  is  therefore  necessary  that  such  a 
difficulty  should  arise.  According  to 
Eckhof's  account,  there  will  be  two 
hundred  students  at  the  theatre  to- 
night. There  are  still,  however,  nearly 
one  hundred  who  will  not  be  present  at 
his  performance.  Among  these  there 
must  be  some  brave,  detennined,  de- 
vout young  men,  who,  in  the  name  of 
God,  of  science,  and  of  their  teachers, 
would  willingly  enter  the  lists  against 
these  actors,  and  create  a  disturbance. 
We  must  employ  some  of  these  young 
men  to  visit  the  theatre  to-night,  and 
to  groan  and  hiss  when  the  other  stu- 
dents applaud.  This  will  be  all-suffi- 
cient to  raise  a  riot  amongst  these  hot- 
olooded  young  men.  After  that,  our 
tourse  is  plain :  we  have  but  to  send  in 


our  account  of  the  affair  to  the  General 
Directory,  and  there  will  be  no  danger 
of  a  second  refusal  to  our  petition." 

"  An  excellent  idea !  " 

"  I  am  afraid,  however,  it  will  be 
difficult  to  find  any  students  who  will 
put  their  lives  in  such  jeopardy." 

"  We  must  seek  them  among  those  to 
whose  advantage  it  is  to  stand  well 
with  the  president." 

"There  are  some  who  receive  a 
yearly  stipend  through  me,  and  others 
who  live  only  for  science,  and  never 
visit  the  theatre.  I  name,  for  example, 
the  industrious  young  student  Lupinus, 
I  shall  speak  to  him,  and  I  am  sure  he 
will  not  refuse  to  assist  us ;  he  is  small 
and  not  very  strong,  it  is  true,  but  he 
stands  well  with  the  students,  and  will 
carry  others  with  him.  I  know  five 
others  upon  whom  I  can  count,  and 
that  is  enough  for  our  purpose.  I  will 
give  them  these  tickets  which  Eckhof 
left  here.  He  desired  that  we  should 
make  use  of  them,  and  we  will  do  so, 
but  to  serve  our  own  purpose,  and  not 
his." 

Having  arrived  at  this  happy  conclu- 
sion, the  three  professors  separated. 


CHAPTER  IL 

THE  STUDENT  LUPINTJS, 

YoTTNG  Lupinus  sat  quiet  and  alone, 
as  was  usual  with  him,  in  his  room,  be- 
fore his  writing-table,  which  was  cov- 
ered with  books  and  folios.  He  was 
thinner  and  paler  than  when  we  first 
met  him  in  Berlin.  His  deeply-sunken 
eyes  were  encircled  with  those  dark 
rings  which  are  usually  the  outward 
sign  of  mental  suffering.  His  bloodless 
lips  were  firmly  pressed  together,  and 
the  small  hand,  upon  which  his  pale 
brow  rested,  was  transparently  thin  and 
white. 


148 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


Lupinus  was  working,  or  appeared  to 
be  so.  Before  him  lay  one  of  tliose  ven- 
erable folios  which  excite  the  reverence 
of  the  learned.  The  eyes  of  the  young 
man  rested,  it  is  true,  upon  the  open 
page,  but  so  long,  and  so  uninterrupt- 
edly, that  it  was  evident  his  thoughts 
were  elsewhere. 

The  professors  would,  no  doubt,  have 
been  rejoiced  had  they  seen  him  bent 
thus  earnestly  and  attentively  over  this 
volume.  If,  however,  they  had  seen 
what  really  claimed  his  attention,  they 
would  have  been  seized  with  horror. 
Upon  his  open  book  lay  a  playbill,  the 
bill  for  that  evening,  and  upon  this 
"  thing  of  ln)rror "  rested  the  eyes  of 
the  young  student. 

"No,  no,"  he  said,  after  a  long  pause, 
"  I  will  not  go.  I  will  not  be  overcome 
by  my  heart,  after  the  fierce  struggle 
of  these  two  long,  fearful  months.  I 
will  not,  I  dare  not  see  Eckhof  again ; 
I  should  be  lost — undone.  Am  I  not 
lost  even  now  ?  Do  I  not  see  ever  be- 
fore me  those  great,  burning  eyes ;  do 
I  ever  cease  to  hear  his  soft,  melodious 
voice,  which  seems  to  sing  a  requiem 
over  my  dead  happiness  ?  I  have  striv- 
en uselessly  against  my  fate — my  life 
is  blighted.  I  will  strive  no  longer, 
but  I  will  die  honorably,  as  I  have 
lived.  I  only  pray  to  God  that  in  my 
last  hour  I  may  not  curse  my  father 
with  my  dying  lips.  He  has  sinned 
heavily  against  me ;  he  has  sacrificed 
my  life  to  his  will.  May  God  forgive 
him  I  Now,"  continued  Lupinus, 
"  enough  of  complaints.  My  resolution  is 
taken;  I  will  not  go  to  the  theatre,  for 
I  dare  not  see  Eckhof  again." 

He  suddenly  seized  the  playbill,  and 
pressed  the  spot  where  Eckhof 's  name 
stood  again  and  again  to  his  lips,  then 
tore  the  paper  into  many  pieces,  and 
threw  them  behind  him. 

"So  long  as  I  live,  I  must  struggle — 
I  will  battle  bravely.  My  heart  shall 
die,  ihy  soul  av^ake  and  comfort  me." 


Again  he  bent  his  head  over  the 
great  tome,  but  this  time  a  light  knock 
at  his  door  interrupted  him,  and 
the  immediate  entrance  of  Professor 
Franke  filled  him  with  amazement. 

"  My  visit  seems  to  astonish  you," 
said  the  professor,  in  the  most  friendly 
tone,  "  You  think  it  singular  that  the 
president  of  the  university  should  seek 
out  one  of  the  students.  Perhaps  it 
would  be  so  in  an  ordinary  case;  but 
for  you,  Lupinus,  who  are  the  most 
learned  and  honorable  young  man  in 
our  midst,  we  cannot  do  too  much  to 
show  our  respect  and  esteem." 

"This  is  an  honor  which  almost 
shames  me,"  said  Luijinus,  blushing; 
"  an  honor  of  which,  I  fear,  I  am  un- 
worthy." 

"  I  desire  to  give  you  a  still  greater 
proof  of  my  esteem,"  continued  the 
professor.  "  I  wish  to  make  you  my 
confidant,  and  inform  you  of  an  in- 
trigue which,  insignificant  as  it  appears, 
will  be  followed  by  important  results." 

With  ready  words,  Franke  proceeded 
to  explain  to  Lupinus  his  own  views 
with  regard  to  the  actors;  what  he 
considered  their  wretched  influence 
over  the  students,  and  also  the  ill-ad- 
vised decision  of  the  General  Directory. 
He  then  informed  Lupinus  of  his  plan 
for  creating  a  disturbance  in  the  the- 
atre, and  requested  his  assistance  in 
carrying  it  out. 

Lupinus  listened  with  horror  to  this 
explanation  and  request,  but  he  con- 
trolled himself,  and  quietly  received 
the  ticket  which  the  president  handed 
him.  He  listened  silently  to  the  fur- 
ther details,  and  Franke  understood 
his  silence  as  a  respectful  assent. 

When  the  president  had  at  length 
taken  leave,  and  Lupinus  was  again 
alone,  he  seized  the  ticket,  threw  it  on 
the  ground,  and  tramjjled  it  under  foot, 
thus  visiting  upon  the  inoffensive  ticket 
the  scorn  he  had  not  dared  exhibit  tc 
the  president. 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT   AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


149 


'I — I  am  to  be  the  instrument  of 
f".s  miserable  plot !"  he  cried  passion- 
ately. "  Because  I  lead  a  lonely  and 
joyless  life,  I  am  selected  to  execute 
this  infamy.  Ah,  how  little  do  they 
know  me !  how  slight  a  knowledge  of 
the  human  heart  have  these  learned 
professors !  Eckhof  in  danger,  and  I 
remain  silent  ?  Eckhof  threatened,  and 
I  not  warn  him  ?  That  were  a  treach- 
ery against  myself,  a  crime  against  art 
and  my  own  poor  heart.  If  I  remain 
silent,  I  become  an  accomplice  in  this 
vile  conspiracy."  At  this  thought,  he 
took  his  hat  and  hurried  from  the 
room. 

When  he  reached  the  door  of  Eck- 
hof's  lodging,  he  hesitated.  A  pro- 
found pallor  succeeded  a  burning  glow 
upon  his  countenance,  and  he  mur- 
mm*ed  to  himself:  "No,  no;  I  have  not 
the  strength  to  see  him  to  -  day.  I 
should  die  if  his  eyes  rested  upon  me. 
I  will  go  to  Fredersdorf " 

Joseph  Fredersdorf  was  at  home,  and 
received  Lupinus  with  astonished  de- 
light. 

"  The  holy  one  trusts  himself  in  the 
den  of  the  wicked,"  he  said,  with  a 
bright  smile.  "  Tliis  is  an  unheard-of 
event,  which  doubtless  indicates  some- 
thing important." 

"  You  are  laughing  at  me,  but  you 
are  right.  I  am  here  for  a  purpose; 
nothing  unimportant  would  have  in- 
duced me  to  come  to  you  after  the  un- 
grateful manner  in  which  I  declined 
your  friendly  advances.  But  I  am  sure 
you  will  forgive  the  intrusion  when  you 
become  aware  of  the  motive  which  has 
led  me  to  you." 

"With  hurried  words  and  frequent  in- 
terruptions from  Fredersdorf,  Lupinus 
informed  his  friend  of  the  president's 
visit,  and  its  object. 

"  This  is  a  regular  conspiracy,"  said 
Joseph,  as  Lupinus  finished.  "  If  it 
succeed,  the  punishment  of  the  actors 
vrill  be  the  result." 


"  It  must  not  succeed — we  must  pre- 
vent that.  The  first  thing  to  be  done 
is  to  gain  over  the  other  students  to 
whom  the  president  has  intrusted  this 
plot.  We  must  either  do  that  or  pre- 
vent them  from  entering  the  theatre." 

"  But  if  we  can  do  neither  ? " 

"  Then  we  must  allow  what  we  can- 
not prevent,  but  we  must  seek  to  avert 
the  evil  consequences.  We  will  ad- 
dress ourselves  to  the  king,  and  inform 
him  who  has  occasioned  this  disturb- 
ance, and  why  it  was  done." 

"The  king  is  just,  and  happily  it  is 
not  difficult  to  see  him,  especially  for 
me,  as  my  brother  is  his  private  secre- 
tary. We  must  be  active,  and  the  vic- 
tory will  be  ours.  And  now,  my  dear 
friend,  for  you  must  allow  me  to  call 
you  so  from  this  day,  let  us  go  to  my 
master,  Eckhof.  He  must  thank  you 
himself  for  this  kind  warning.  Come 
to  Eckhof." 

"  No  I "  said  Lupinus,  "  it  is  a  matter 
of  no  importance  to  Eckhof,  who  haa 
given  the  information.  There  is  much 
to  be  done  to-day.  I  will  seek  to  gain 
over  the  students ;  you  must  hasten  to 
Eckhof" 

"  And  will  you  not  accompany  me  ? " 

"  No,  my  friend,  not  to-day.  Let  us 
await  the  events  of  this  evening.  Per- 
haps I  shall  ask  you  to  present  me  to 
him  to-morrow." 

"  Ah,  that  would  be  a  real  triumph 
for  me ! " 

"  Let  us  first  take  care  that  this  plot 
fails,  and  the  actors  are  not  driven 
from  Halle." 

"  When  we  have  accomplished  this, 
will  you  promise  to  walk  arm-in-arm 
with  me  three  times  through  the  mar- 
ket-place ? " 

"  Not  only  three  times,  but  as  oftec 
as  you  will." 

"  Now  I  feel  the  strength  of  Samson, 
and  the  craft  of  Delilah.  With  this  re- 
ward before  me,  I  will  vanquish  all 
enemies." 


150 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


CHAPTER  ni. 

THE  DISTTIEBANCE   IN  THE  THEATRE. 

So  dense  was  the  crowd  which 
filled  the  streets  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  theatre  on  the  evening  of  Eckhof 's 
benefit,  that  it  appeared  as  if  the  en- 
tire population  of  the  city  of  Halle 
must  be  unanimous  in  wishing  to  do 
honor  to  this  wonderful  artiste. 

Eckhof  owed  this  triumph  to  the 
students ;  he  had  been  their  darling 
from  the  time  of  his  first  appearance 
among  them,  and  now  he  had  become 
the  favorite  of  the  entire  city,  with  the 
exception  of  the  professors. 

Had  the  theatre  been  three  times  its 
actual  size,  it  could  scarcely  have  ac- 
commodated all  who  had  made  applica- 
tions for  tickets.  The  parterre  was 
given  up  almost  entirely  to  the  students, 
upon  whose  countenances  was  plainly 
seen  their  di^ep  interest  in  the  evening's 
entertainment. 

Here  and  there  among  them  a  few 
earnest  faces  and  darkly -flashing  eyes 
might  be  seen,  but  they  seemed  to  ar- 
rest no  eye  but  that  of  Lui^inus.  He 
had  passed  every  countenance  in  re- 
view, and  had  instantly  recognized  by 
their  expression  those  students  who  had 
entered  into  the  plot  of  the  president. 
He  had  failed  in  his  efibrt  to  discover 
them  before  the  opening  of  the  theatre, 
and  was,  therefore,  unable  to  prevent 
their  attendance. 

Professor  Franke  had  informed  these 
students  that  they  might  count  upon 
the  assistance  of  Lupinus,  and  one  of 
them  had  just  whispered  to  him: 
'*  There  will  be  a  fierce  struggle,  and  I 
fear  we  shall  be  worsted,  as  our  num- 
oer  is  so  small.  Did  you  bring  your 
:apicr  ? " 

Before  Lupinus  could  answer,  he  was 
separated  from  his  questioner  by  a 
crowd  of  students  pushing  their  way 


forward.  It  seemed  as  if  these  new  ar» 
rivals  had  not  come  to  the  theatre  for 
mere  amusement.  Tliey  glanced  threat- 
eningly around  them,  as  if  seeking  a 
concealed  enemy.  In  passing  Lupinus 
they  greeted  him  with  a  few  low-spoken 
words,  or  a  warm  jjressure  of  the  hand. 

These  students  were  the  special 
friends  of  Joseph  Fredersdorf,  To 
them  he  had  confided  the  danger  which 
threatened  the  actors  this  evening,  and 
had  demanded  their  aid  in  maintaining 
l^eace  and  quiet.  They  scattered  about 
amcmgst  the  crowd  of  students,  and 
whispered  to  their  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances: "No  disturbance  this  evening. 
We  must  be  quiet,  whatever  occurs." 

At  length  this  fluttering,  whispering 
crowd  were  silenced  by  the  ringing  of 
the  bell,  which  announced  the  rising 
of  the  curtain. 

The  piece  began,  and  never  had  Eck- 
hof displayed  such  fire,  such  enthusi- 
asm ;  the  students  had  never  exhibited 
such  rapt  and  earnest  attention.  Their 
excitement  was  shown  by  their  flashing 
eyes  and  glowing  cheeks,  and  the  low 
murmurs  of  delight  which  arose  occa- 
sionally from  this  dark  mass.  But  at 
length  a  moment  arrived  when  it  be- 
came impossible  to  suppress  the  expres- 
sion of  their  delight,  and,  forgetting  all 
resolve  to  the  contrary,  they  called 
aloud,  amid  thunders  of  applause,  for 
their  favorite  Eckhof,  who  had  just  left 
the  stage, 

"  A  disturbance  is  now  unavoidable," 
said  Lupinus  to  himself,  "  but  Eckhof 
deserves  that  we  should  forget  all  such 
miserable  considerations.  To  die  for 
him  were  to  be  indeed  blessed." 

As  Eckhof  appeared  upon  the  stage, 
in  answer  to  the  repeated  calls  upon 
his  name,  Lupinus  gazed  upon  him 
with  a  beaming  countenance,  and 
joined  the  others  in  their  cries  of  de- 
light. 

The  unalloyed  triumph  of  Eckhof 
endured  but  for  one  moment,  for  sud 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS, 


151 


denly,  high  above  the  shouts  of  ap- 
plause, arose  a  piercing,  derisive  whistle, 
succeeded  by  hisses  and  groans. 

As  if  by  magic,  the  aspect  of  the 
parterre  was  changed.  Every  student 
looked  wrathfully  at  his  neighbor,  as 
if  determined  to  discover  and  punish 
the  rash  offender  who  dared  run  coun- 
ter to  the  general  approbation.  A  few 
students  were  endeavoring  to  calm  the 
rising  storm;  but  renewed  hisses  and 
groans  made  this  impossible,  and  one 
voice  was  heard  high  above  the  others : 
''  You  hissed,  sir ;  I.forbid  it !  " 

"  And  I  forbid  you  to  applaud,"  was 
the  answer.  "  So  long  as  you  applaud, 
I  will  hiss.  Accommodate  yourself  to 
that." 

A  universal  cry  of  wrath  arose  as  \f 
from  one  voice.  The  struggle  was  me\  • 
itable,  as  Lupinus  ha>  l  foreseen ;  the  par- 
terre  of  the  theatre  was  converted  into 
a  battle-ground,  and  a  fierce  combat  be- 
gan among  these  young,  hot-blooded 
students.  The  manager  ordered  the 
lights  to  be  extinguished,  and  the  po- 
lice to  be  called  in,  but  for  a  long  time 
their  efforts  were  ineffectual  in  subduing 
the  contest. 

We  will  leave  the  theatre  with  Lupi- 
nus, who,  as  soon  as  he  could  extricate 
himself  from  the  battling  crowd,  hur- 
ried through  the  streets,  toward  the 
lodging  of  Fredersdorf. 

He  found  a  post-carriage  before  the 
door,  and  Fredersdorf,  dressed  for  a 
journey,  was  just  leaving  the  house. 
As  he  was  stepping  into  the  carriage, 
Lupinus  placed  his  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  said,  "  Where  are  you 
going,  Fredersdorf? " 

"  To  Berlin,  to  the  king." 

"  The  king  is  not  in  Berlin ;  he  is  in 
Silesia,  with  the  army." 

"  I  received  letters  from  my  brother 
to-day.  The  king  has  gone  to  Berlin 
for  a  few  days,  and  my  brother  is  with 
him.  I  will  have  no  diflBculty  in  ob- 
taining an  audience.    I  shall  give  the 


king  a  correct  version  of  this  affair. 
He  will  perceive  that  this  disturbance 
was  occasioned  by  the  professors,  and 
he  will  not  allow  us  to  be  driven  from 
Halle.  Farewell,  my  friend;  in  four 
days  I  return,  and  you  shall  hear  the 
result  of  my  journey." 

"  I  intend  to  accompany  you." 

"  You  intend  to  accompany  me  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  perhaps  you  will  need  a  wit- 
ness ;  I  must  be  with  you.  I  thought 
you  would  have  counted  on  me." 

"  How  could  I  suppose  that  Lupinus, 
the  learned  student,  who  will  receive 
his  diploma  at  the  end  of  a  few  weeks, 
would  tear  himself  from  the  arms  of 
his  beloved  Science,  to  go  with  a  come- 
dian before  the  king,  and  bear  witness 
for  the  hated  and  despised  actors  ?  " 

"  Ah,  Fredersdorf,"  said  Lupinus ; 
"if  you  consider  Science  my  beloved, 
I  fear  you  will  soon  have  occa.sion  to 
call  me  a  faithless  lover." 

"  What  can  you  mean  ?  How  !  you 
also — " 

"  Let  us  be  off,  my  friend.  We  will 
discuss  that  in  the  carriage." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   FKIEKDS. 

Four  days  after  the  unfortunate  oc- 
currences in  the  theatre.  Fredersdorf 
and  his  friend  Lupinus  returned  from 
their  secret  journey,  the  object  of 
which  was  unknown  even  to  Eckhof. 
No  sooner  had  they  alighted  from  their 
travelUng-carriage,  than  they  proceed- 
ed arm-in-arm  to  Eckliof's  lodging. 
They  found  him  at  home  and  alone, 
and  Fredersdorf  saw  from  his  pale 
countenance  and  lustreless  eyes  that  his 
sensitive,  easily-excited  nature  had  been 
deeply  wounded  by  the  late  events. 

'•  I  bring  you  a  new  pupil,  my  ma* 
ter,"  said  Fredersdorf,  di'awing  Lupi 


152 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


nus  forward,  who  stood  deeply  blushing 
before  Eckhof. 

Eckhof  smiled  sadly.  "  A  pupil  who 
desires  that  I  should  lead  him  through 
all  the  classes  and  degrees  of  the  school 
of  suffering  and  humiliation  ? " 

"  A  young  student,  Eckhof,  who  up 
to  this  time  has  been  the  pride  and  de- 
light of  the  university;  who,  however, 
now  wishes  to  relinquish  this  honor, 
and  become  one  of  your  followers.  In 
one  word,  this  is  Lupinus,  who  desires 
to  waive  his  right  to  the  prospective 
clignity  of  the  title  of  doctor  of  medi- 
cine, and  to  become  your  pupil,  and 
eventually  an  actor." 

"You  are  kind  and  tender-hearted 
as  ever,  Joseph,"  said  Eckhof,  gently. 
"  You  know  that  I  bear  a  wound  in  my 
heart,  and  you  seek  to  heal  it  with  the 
balm  of  your  friendship,  and  this  kind 
jest." 

"  This  is  no  jest,  but  a  reality.  Tru- 
ly, you  resemble  a  pair  of  lovers,  who 
have  not  the  courage  to  believe  in  their 
own  happiness.  Eckhof  will  not  be- 
lieve that  the  learned  student  Lupinus 
wishes  to  become  his  follower  and  pu- 
pil, and  Lupinus  stands  there  like  a 
young  girl  who  has  received  a  declara- 
tion and  does  not  dare  say  yes.  Speak, 
Lupinus,  and  tell  this  doubter  that  you 
have  come  voluntarily ;  that  I  have  not 
pressed  you  into  the  service  as  Frederick 
William  impressed  soldiers.  Truly,  I 
had  trouble  enough  in  divining  from 
your  broken  words  and  repressed  sighs, 
your  blushes,  and  your  deep  admiration 
for  Eckhof,  this  secret  which  lay  in 
your  bosom.  But  now  that  it  has  been 
discovered,  take  courage,  my  friend, 
find  raise  the  veil  which  conceals  your 
lesires." 

Lupinus  remained  speechless,  only 
the  heaving  of  his  breast  betrayed  his 
excitement.  Eckhof  had  compassion 
on  the  evident  embarrassment  of  the 
young  student,  and  approaching  him 
laid  his  hand  gently  on  his  shoulder. 


Lupinus  trembled  and  grew  pale  under 
Eckhof  s  gentle,  sympathetic  glance. 

"Do  you  wish  really  to  become  an 
actor?"  questioned  Eckhof. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I 
have  long  wished  it,  I  have  struggled 
with  this  wish,  and  thought  I  had  over- 
come it ;  but  the  struggle  has  been  in 
vain ;  in  vain  have  I  buried  myself  in 
books  and  studies.  I  will  keep  up  this 
internal  strife  no  longer,  but  will  follow 
the  inclinations  of  my  heart,  which 
lead  me  to  you.  In  this  new  life  I  shall 
be  happy  and  contented;  and  this  I 
can  only  hope  to  be,  in  giving  my  life 
to  poetry  and  art." 

"  Ah,  he  speaks  and  thinks  as  I  did," 
said  Eckhof  to  himself;  then  turning  to 
Lupinus,  he  said :  "  You  wish  to  be  an 
actor ;  that  means,  you  desire  a  life  of 
shame  and  humiliation.  No  o.'e  shall 
become  an  actor  if  I  can  prevent  it. 
Do  you  know,  young  man,  that,  to  be 
an  actor,  means  to  have  the  whole 
world,  and  perhaps  even  God,  arrayed 
against  you  ? " 

"  You  are  unjust,  Eckhof,"  cried 
Fredersdorf, — "  unjust  to  yourself  and 
to  the  world.  You  scorn  your  own  tri- 
umph, and  those  who  prepared,  that 
triumph  for  you." 

"  You  are  right  so  far,  my  friend,"  re- 
plied Eckhof  sadly.  "  But  is  it  not  al- 
so true  that  we  are  persecuted  and  driv- 
en forth  ?  Has  it  not  been  proved  that 
for  an  actor  there  is  no  law,  no  justice  ? " 

"  Who  knows,"  said  Fredersdorf,  smi- 
ling, "  that  we  may  not  still  triumph 
over  these  miserable  conspu-ators  ? " 

"Are  you  aware  that  the  theatre  has 
been  closed,  and  our  representations 
forbidden  until  the  decision  of  the  Gen- 
eral Assembly,  with  regard  to  the  late 
disturbance  in  the  theatre,  shall  be 
known  ? " 

"  The  General  Assembly  will  order 
the  theatre  to  be  opened,  and  our  rep- 
resentations to  recommence." 

Eckhof  heard  this  with  a  cutting,  de 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AXD  HIS  FRIENDS. 


153 


risive  laugh.  "Dear  friend,  such  an 
order  would  render  justice  to  the  scorn- 
ed and  oppressed  on  earth  ! " 

"And  they  will  receive  justice;  but 
it  must  be  sought  in  the  right  place." 

"  Where  is  that  place  ? " 

"  Where  the  king  is." 

"Ah!  the  king!  That  may  be  true 
in  your  case,  because  your  brother  is  his 
private  secretary,  but  it  is  not  true  for 
me — not  true  for  the  German  actor.'* 

"  Eckhof,  you  are  again  unjust.  The 
king  is  too  noble,  too  free  from  preju- 
dice, to  be  deceived  by  the  dust  with 
which  these  learned  professors  have 
sought  to  blind  him.  The  king  knows 
that  they  occasioned  the  late  disturb- 
ance in  the  theatre." 

"  Who  has  told  you  that  ?  " 

"  The  king  himself." 

"  You  have  seen  the  king  ? " 

"  I  have.  I  hope  you  will  allow  now, 
that  it  is  not  a  good  thing  for  me  only 
that  my  brother  is  private  secretary  to 
the  king.  I  have  seen  his  majesty,  and 
I  informed  him  of  this  wretched  intrigue 
of  the  professors.  He  might  not  have 
put  entire  faith  in  the  accounts  of  the 
actor,  Joseph  Fredersdorf,  but  I  was 
accompanied  by  a  responsible  witness, 
who  confirmed  my  words." 

"  Who  was  this  witness  ? " 

"This  is  he,"  said  Joseph,  drawing 
Lupinus  forward. 

"  Ah ! "  said  Eckhof,  "  and  I  was  mur- 
muring and  complaining  against  fate — 
I,  whose  friends  have  shown  their  love 
by  deeds  as  well  as  by  words — friends 
who  worked  for  me  whilst  I  sat  with 
folded  hands  bewailing  my  bad  fortune. 
Forgive  me,  Joseph;  forgive  me,  my 
young  friend;  come  to  my  arms,  my 
comrades,  my  brothers,  and  say  that  you 
will  forget  my  anger  and  injustice." 

He  opened  his  arms,  and  Joseph 
threw  himself  upon  his  breast. 

'•  And  you,  my  friend,"  said  Eckhof, 
turning  to  Lupinus,  who  stood  pale  and 
motionless  before  him. 


Joseph  drew  them  together  and  ex- 
claimed :  "  Was  I  not  right  ?  Tou  are 
like  two  lovers;  Lupinus  acts  the  part 
of  the  coy  maiden  to  the  life.  I  do  not 
believe,  Eckhof,  that  you  will  ever  have 
a  wife  who  will  love  you  more  entirely, 
more  tenderly,  than  our  young  doctor 
does." 

Lupinus,  now  folded  in  the  arms  of 
Eckhof,  trembled  and  grew  pale  at 
these  words  from  Joseph. 

"  Love  me,  love  me,  my  dear  young 
friend,"  said  Eckhof,  softly.  "  Friend- 
ship is  the  purest,  the  holiest  gift  of 
God.  It  is  the  love  of  the  souls.  Be 
faithful  to  me,  Lupinus,  as  I  shall  be  to 
you." 

"  I  will  be  faithful  so  long  as  I  live, 
faithful  beyond  the  grave,"  whispered 
Lupinus. 

"  You  whispering,  dreaming  lovers, 
are  forgetting  me,"  said  Joseph,  laugh- 
ing. "  You  must  not  forget,  Eckhof^ 
that  the  future  of  our  friend  is  awaiting 
your  decision.  Shall  he  give  up  his 
studies  as  I  did,  and  become  an  actor  ? 
It  is  only  proper  to  tell  you  that  the 
cases  are  not  quite  parallel,  for  I  was  a 
very  lazy  student,  and  he  is  most  indus- 
trious. I  was  considered  a  good-for- 
nothing,  and  Lupinus  is  a  miracle  of 
knowledge  and  learning.  Shall  he 
abandon  this  position  and  follow 
you  ? " 

"  He  must  not,  indeed,"  said  Eckho£ 

"  You  will  not  receive  me  ? "  said  Lu- 
pinus, sadly. 

"  Not  at  present,  dear  friend ;  I  wish 
to  be  reasonable  and  careful,  and  per- 
haps a  little  egotistical.  If  you  should 
leave  the  university  at  present,  you  give 
the  professors  a  new  weapon  against 
me,  and  it  would  be  said  that  I  had 
employed  arts  to  seduce  you  from  the 
paths  of  science.  And,  further,  we  do 
not  know  if  you  have  a  talent  for  our 
profession;  that  must  first  be  proved. 
Remain  for  the  present  true  to  your 
studies;  at  the  end  of  a  year,  during 


154 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


wliicli  time  you  shall  pass  your  noviti- 
ate, we  will  decide  this  question." 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  say,"  said  Lupi- 
nus,  earnestly.  **  I  will  first  gain  my 
diploma,  and  then  you  shall  decide  my 
future,  you  and  no  other." 

"  So  be  it,"  said  Joseph,  "and  now 
let  us  drink  to  your  future  success,  Lu- 
pinus,  in  a  glass  of  champagne,  and  to 
the  confusion  of  the  professors,  who 
are  awaiting  with  such  proud  confi- 
dence the  decision  of  the  General  As- 
Bembly." 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   ORDEK   OF   THE  KING. 

Joseph  Fredersdorf  was  quite  right 
in  saying  that  the  professors  awaited 
the  decision  of  the  General  Assembly 
with  proud  confidence.  It  did  not 
occur  to  them  that  it  might  be  un- 
favorable to  their  wishes.  A  public 
disturbance  had  arisen  between  the 
students,  occasioned  by  a  performance 
in  the  theatre  ;  this  was  a  sufficient 
cause  for  the  banishment  of  the  actors. 
An  account  of  the  riot  had  been  already 
forwarded  by  the  Senate  of  the  Univer- 
ity  to  the  General  Assembly,  and  the 
worthy  gentlemen  who  composed  this 
body  did  not  doubt  the  fulfilment  of 
their  request,  that  the  actors  should  be 
removed  from  Halle. 

President  Franke  received  Mith  the 
utmost  composure  the  official  dispatch, 
containing  the  decision  of  the  General 
Assembly,  and  called  an  immediate 
meeting  of  the  Senate  for  its  perusal. 
Whilst  awaiting  the  opening  of  the 
meeting,  Professor  Heinrich  was  express- 
ing to  his  friend,  Professor  Bierman, 
his  impatience  to  know  the  contents  of 
the  dispatch. 

"  I  am  not  at  all  impatient,"  replied 
Bierman.  "  I  am  convinced  the  deci- 
sion will  be  perfectly  satisfactory  to  us  ; 


in  fact,  that  it  commands  the  departm*e 
of  these  actors  from  our  city." 

"  Have  you  no  doubts  ?  Do  you  not 
fear  that  the  king,  in  his  hatred  for  the 
theologians,  and  his  admiration  for 
these  comedians,  may  decide  in  their 
favor  rather  than  ours  ? " 

"  Dear  friend,  such  a  doubt  would  be 
unworthy  the  dignity  of  our  position. 
The  king,  seeing  that  the  matter  has 
gone  so  far,  must  decide  in  our  favor. 
And  here  is  our  worthy  president.  Look 
at  his  proud  and  cheerful  aspect,  and 
judge  whether  the  document  he  holds  in 
his  hand  can  be  unfavorable.'* 

"He  does,  indeed,  seem  contented," 
answered  Professor  Heinrich,  as  he  and 
his  friend  moved  for  ward  to  meet  the 
president. 

With  great  solemnity  the  senators 
proceeded  to  take  tlieir  seats  in  the 
arm-chairs  which  encircled  a  large  table 
standing  in  the  centre  of  the  room. 

After  a  moment's  silence  the  president 
addressed  them  :  "  Worthy  friends  and 
colleagues,  I  have  to  announce  to  you 
that  the  hour  has  at  length  arrived 
which  is  to  end  all  the  doubts  and  cares 
that  have  oj^pressed  our  hearts  for  many 
months.  We  have  had  a  bitter  strug- 
gle; we  have  striven  to  preserve  the 
honor  of  our  university  and  the  well- 
being  of  the  youth  committed  to  our 
care.  The  men  who  work  with  such 
noble  motives  must  eventually  tri- 
umph." 

"  The  decision  is,  then,  in  our  favor," 
asked  Professor  Heinrich,  no  longer 
able  to  subdue  his  impatient  curiosity. 
"  Your  excellency  has  already  read  the 
dispatch  of  the  General  Assembly,  and 
are  acquainted  with  its  contents  ? " 

"  I  have  not  read  it,  and  I  do  not 
know  its  contents.  But  I  rely  upon 
our  worthy  cause,  and  the  king's  sense 
of  justice.  These  comedians  were  the 
occasion  of  a  public  disturbance — it  is, 
therefore,  proper  that  they  should  be 
punished.    As  justice  is  on  our  side  I 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT  AXD   HIS  FRIENDS. 


155 


caunot  doubt  the  result.  I  have  not 
read  this  dispatch,  for  I  considered  it 
more  in  accordance  with  the  dignity 
of  this  body  that  the  seal  should  be 
broken  in  your  presence,  and  I  now  beg 
that  you,  Professor  Bierman,  as  the  sec- 
rotary  of  the  Senate,  will  read  to  us 
this  dispatch  from  the  General  Assem- 
bly." 

As  Bierman  broke  the  seal,  all  eyes 
were  turned  on  him,  and  in  this  mo- 
ment of  expectation  the  professors  were 
aware  that  their  hearts  beat  louder  and 
more  rapidly.  Suddenly  Professor  Bier- 
man uttered  a  cry,  a  cry  of  horror, 
which  awakened  an  echo  in  every 
breast. 

"Proceed,"  commanded  the  presi- 
dent, with  stony  composure. 

"I  cannot,"  murmured  Bierman,  as 
he  sank  back  powerless  in  his  chair. 

"  Then  I  will  read  it  myself,"  cried 
Professor  Heinrich,  forgetting  all  other 
considerations  in  his  determination  to 
satisfy  his  curiosity. 

"  I  will  read  it,"  he  repeated,  as  he 
took  the  paper  from  the  trembling 
hands  of  his  friend. 

''  Read,"  said  the  president,  in  a  low 
voice. 

Professor  Heinrich  then  proceeded 
to  read  aloud  the  following  dispatch 
sent  by  the  General  Assembly  to  the 
Senate  of  the  University  at  Halle : 

"We  find  it  most  unworthy  that  you, 
in  your  complaint  against  the  come- 
dians now  in  Halle,  should  endeavor 
to  cast  on  them  the  blame  of  the  late 
disturbance  in  the  theatre.  "We  arc 
well  aware  of  the  cause  of  this  disturb- 
ance, and  now  declare  that  the  actors 
shall  not  be  banished  from  Halle." 

A  fearful  pause  followed  this  read- 
ing. The  president  perceived  that 
Heinrich  was  still  looking  at  the  paper 
he  held. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  Have  you  finished  the 
dispatch  ? " 

"  No,  your  excellency ;  there  is  a  note 


on  the  margin,  in  the  writing  of  the 
king." 

"Read  it  aloud." 

"  Your  excellency,  the  king  has  made 
use  of  some  expressions  that  I  cannot 
bring  my  lips  to  utter." 

"The  king  is  our  master;  we  must 
hear  what  he  has  to  say  in  all  humil- 
ity." 

"You  command  me,  then,  to  pro- 
ceed ? " 

"I  command  it." 

"  '  This  pack  of  theologians  have 
caused  the  whole  difficulty.  The  actors 
shall  continue  to  play,  and  !Mr.  Franke, 
or  whatever  else  the  scamp  calls  himself, 
shall  make  pul)lic  reparation,  by  visit- 
ing the  theatre ;  and  I  must  receive 
information  from  the  actors  themselves 
that  he  has  done  so.' " 

A  miuTOur  of  horror  succeeded  the 
reading  of  this  order.  Only  President 
Franke  maintained  his  erect  position, 
and  continued  looking  straight  before 
him  at  Professor  Heinrich,  who  had  just 
dropped  the  fatal  paper. 

"  Is  that  all  ? "  asked  the  p  esident. 

"  It  is,  your  excellency.' ' 

He  bowed  gravely,  and,  rising  from 
his  chair,  glanced  slowly  from  one  face 
to  another.  The  senators  cast  down 
their  eyes  before  this  glance,  not  from 
fear  or  shame,  but  from  terror  at  the 
fearful  expression  of  the  president's 
countenance. 

"  If  that  is  all,  it  is  time  for  me  to 
go,"  he  said  solemnly,  as  he  pushed  his 
chair  back,  and  slowly  and  stifily  walk- 
ed forward,  like  an  automaton  which 
had  been  set  in  motion  by  machinery, 

"This  has  aftected  his  brain.  Ho 
will  have  a  paralytic  stroke,"  murmured 
the  senators  to  one  another. 

The  president  did  not  hear  them, 
nor  did  he  seem  to  know  what  he 
wished.  He  was  now  standing  mo- 
tionless a  few  steps  from  the  table. 

The  professors  were  terrified  at  this 
spectacle,  and  only  Heinrich   had  the 


156 


BERLIN   AND    SANS-SOUCI  ;    OR, 


courage  to  advance  to  his  side  and  ask 
— "  Where  do  you  wish  to  go,  my  dear 
friend?" 

"I  wish  to  obey  the  comiTiand  of  the 
king — I  am  going  to  the  theatre,"  he 
replied,  with  a  cry  of  despair,  and  then 
fell  fainting  into  the  arms  of  his  friend. 

Professor  Bierman  instantly  summon- 
ed assistance,  and  the  insensible  form  of 
the  president  was  borne  from  the  room, 
and  a  messenger  sent  for  a  physician. 

When  the  professors  had  become 
somewhat  composed,  Bierman  announ- 
ced to  them  that  he  had  a  proposition 
to  make  which  he  hoped  would  meet 
with  theu-  approval. 

"  You  doubtless  agree  with  me,  my 
friends,  in  saying  that  this  cruel  sen- 
tence of  the  king  must  be  carried  out. 
Our  friend  the  president  would  not 
suffer  alone  in  its  fulfilment — the  honor 
of  the  university  would  receive  an  ir- 
reparable wound.  We  must  employ 
every  effort  to  alter  this  decision.  It  is, 
in  my  opinion,  fortunate  that  our  worthy 
Mend  has  sunk  for  the  time  beneath  this 
blow.  His  illness  relieves  him  from  the 
necessity  of  an  immediate  appearance 
in  the  theatre ;  and,  whether  ill  or  not, 
he  must  remain  in  his  bed  until  the 
king  can  be  induced  to  alter  his  sen- 
tence. We  will  prepare  a  petition  and 
send  it  immediately  to  the  king." 

The  proposal  of  Bierman  met  with 
entire  approval ;  and  the  petition  was 
prepared,  signed  by  all  the  professors, 
and  sent  to  Berlin  by  one  of  their  num- 
ber. The  king,  however,  declined  to  re- 
ceive him,  and  his  only  answer  was 
that  in  eight  days  the  Senate  would 
be  made  acquainted  with  his  final  de- 
cision. 

The  professors  convinced  tnemselves 
that  there  was  comfort  in  this  answer. 
The  king  evidently  did  not  intend  to 
insist  on  the  execution  of  the  first  sen- 
tence, or  he  would  simply  have  ordered 
its  fulfilment. 

The  professors  were  hopeful,  and  no 


longer  opposed  the  nightly  visits  of 
the  students  to  the  theatre.  A.  few  of 
them  determined  to  visit  the  theatre 
themselves,  and  see  this  Eckhof  who 
had  caused  them  so  much  sorrow  and 
trouble.  The  students  were  delighted 
at  this  concession,  and  considered  the 
professors  the  most  enlightened  and  un- 
prejudiced of  the  whole  body.  To  show 
their  appreciation  of  this,  they  attended 
their  lectures  on  the  following  day. 

This  unexpected  result  made  tho 
other  professors  falter  in  their  deter- 
mination. Their  temporal  good  de- 
pended very  much  on  the  attendance  of 
the  students  upon  their  lectures.  They 
found  that  they  must  consent  to  listen 
to  Eckhof  and  his  companions,  if  they 
would  be  heard  themselves;  and,  at 
length,  they  determined  to  make  peace 
with  the  students  and  actors,  and  to 
visit  the  theatre. 

Peace  was  now  proclaimed,  and  Eck- 
hof, whose  noble  and  tender  heart  was 
filled  with  joy  and  gratitude,  played 
"  Britannicus  "  with  such  power  and 
feeling  that  he  even  won  applause  from 
the  professors. 

President  Franke  was  still  confined  to 
his  room.  The  terror  of  a  forced  visit 
to  the  theatre,  which  would  be  known 
as  an  expiation  for  his  fault,  made 
his  nights  sleepless  and  his  days  most 
wretched. 

At  length,  however,  the  answer  to  the 
petition  arrived,  and,  to  his  great  relief, 
he  found  himself  condemned  to  pay  a 
fine  of  twenty  thalers  to  the  almshouse 
of  Halle  ;  and  no  further  mention  was 
made  of  his  visit  to  the  theatre. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE   BATTLE   OF   SOHE. 

Deep  silence  reigned  in  the  encamp- 
i  ment  which  the  Prussians  had  estal- 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


157 


islied  near  the  village  of  S  )hr.  The 
brave  soldiers,  wearied  with  their  long 
march,  were  sleeping  quietly,  although 
they  knew  that  the  Austrian  army, 
which  far  outnumbered  their  own,  was 
hastening  toward  them,  and  would  at- 
tack them  within  a  few  hours.  This 
knowledge  did  not  alarm  them,  they 
had  not  so  soon  forgotten  their  signal 
victory  over  Karl  von  Lothringen,  with 
his  Austrians,  Bavarians,  and  Saxons, 
at  Hohenfriedberg.  They  did  not  fear 
a  defeat  at  Sohr,  although  the  grand- 
duke  was  now  the  leader  of  forty  thou- 
sand men,  and  Frederick's  army  had 
been  so  diminished  by  the  forces  he 
had  sent  to  Saxony  and  Silesia,  that  it 
consisted  of  scarcely  twenty  thousand 
men.  The  Prussian  soldiers  relied  con- 
fidently upon  the  good  fortune  and  the 
strategic  talent  of  their  king ;  they 
could  sleep  quietly,  for  Frederick 
watched  beside  them. 

The  watch-fires  had  died  out,  the 
lights  in  the  tents  of  the  officers  were 
extinguished.  Now  and  then  might 
be  heard  the  measured  tread  of  a  sen- 
tinel, or  the  loud  breathing  of  some 
soldier  dreaming  perhaps  of  his  distant 
home  or  forsaken  bride.  No  other 
sounds  broke  upon  the  night  air.  The 
Prussian  army  slept.  Alas !  how  many 
of  them  were  now  dreaming  their  last 
earthly  dream  ;  how  many  on  the  mor- 
row would  lie  with  gaping  wounds 
upon  a  bloody  battle-ground,  with 
staring  glassy  eyes  turned  upward,  and 
no  one  near  to  wipe  the  death-drops 
from  their  brows !  They  know  not, 
they  care  not,  they  are  lost  in  sleep. 
There  can  be  no  pressing  danger,  for 
the  king  is  in  their  midst — the  light 
has  been  extinguished  in  his  tent  also. 
He  sleeps  with  his  army. 

It  is  midnight,  the  hour  of  wander- 
ing spirits.  Is  that  a  spirit  which  has 
just  left  so  noiselessly  the  tent  of  the 
king,  and  has  so  quickly  vanished  in 
Lhe  tent  of  the  adjutant,  which  adjoins 


that  of  the  king ?  No,  not  vanished, 
for  it  has  already  reappeared ;  but  there 
are  now  three  of  these  shadowy  beings 
quietly  approaching  the  white  tents  of 
the  officers,  disappearing  for  an  instant 
into  each  tent,  then  reappearing,  and 
continuing  their  course. 

Where  they  have  been  may  now  be 
heard  a  low  whispering  and  moving. 
Soon  another  dark  figure  is  visible ;  it 
moves  cautiously  forward  toward  the 
soldiers'  tents  in  which  it  disapi^ears, 
and  from  these  may  be  heard  the  same 
low  whispering,  and  like  a  murmuring 
brook  this  babbling  glides  through  the 
entire  camp,  always  following  the  first 
three  shadows  who  have  gone  noise- 
lessly and  with  the  rapidity  of  the  wind 
through  the  camp. 

"Why  have  these  three  shadows  driven 
sleep  from  the  encampment  ?  why  have 
they  ordered  the  horses  to  be  prepared  ? 
No  one  has  been  told  to  mount, 
no  "  Foi"ward  !  "  has  been  thundered 
through  the  camp;  and  but  for  the 
dark  figures  which  may  now  be  seen  on 
all  sides,  the  silence  is  so  profound  that 
one  might  almost  think  the  camp  still 
buried  in  sleep. 

The  Austrians,  who  can  only  view 
the  camp  from  a  distance,  think,  no 
doubt,  their  enemy  still  sleeps. 

The  silence  of  the  camp  is  at  last 
broken  by  a  sound  like  the  heavy  roll 
of  thunder ;  and  if  the  moon  were  now 
to  break  through  the  clouds,  it  would 
gleam  upon  eight  field-pieces  which  are 
being  carefully  drawn  behind  a  little 
elevation  in  the  ground,  which  lies  op- 
posite the  defile  occupied  by  the  Aus- 
trians. 

Once  again  all  is  silent,  and  the  ho- 
rizon begins  to  clear ;  a  few  rosy  clouds 
fly  across  the  heavens,  the  veil  of  nighl 
is  raised,  the  stars  pale  as  the  morning 
arrays  herself  with  hues  of  purple  and 
gold. 

It  is  moraing.  Let  us  look  again  at 
the  camp  of  the  Prussian  soldiers.   Are 


168 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCl  ;    OR, 


1^ 


they  sleeping !  No,  no ;  all  are  awake  ; 
all  prepared  for  action,  but  all  silent 
and  motionless  as  if  bound  by  a  charm. 

And  here  is  the  enchanter  who  has 
awakened  all  these  thousands  to  life, 
and  still  binds  them  to  silence.  His 
countenance  is  bright  and  clear,  his 
glance  seems  to  pierce  the  hill  which 
divides  him  from  the  enemy,  and  to 
divine  the  moment  (;f  their  attack. 
There  is  the  ruler,  whose  will  is  law  to 
all  these  thousands  of  men,  whose  word 
is  now  to  lead  them  to  death,  to  a 
shameful  defeat,  or  to  a  glorious  vic- 
tory. There  is  the  king.  He  knows 
that  withia  a  few  moments  the  Aus- 
trians  will  attack  his  army,  but  he  does 
not  tremble. 

The  Austrians  expect  to  surprise  a 
sleeping  foe ;  but  the  king,  who  is  the 
father  of  his  people,  has  himself,  with 
his  two  adjutants,  Trenck  and  Stand- 
nitz,  awakened  them  from  their  slum- 
bers ;  it  was  he  who  directed  the  pla- 
cing of  cannon  at  the  point  upon 
which  the  Austrian  cavalry  is  certain  to 
make  their  descent  upon  the  sleeping 
camp.. 

The  king  was  right.  Do  you  not 
hear  the  heavy  tramp  of  cavalry,  the 
thunder  of  those  cannon  ? 

The  Austrians  are  pressing  through 
the  narrow  defile;  this  is  the  thunder  of 
their  cannon,  with  which  they  thought 
to  awaken  the  Prussians. 

Now  the  king  raises  his  sword ;  the 
sign  is  given.  The  Austrian  cavalry 
may  advance,  for  the  Prussians  are  now 
in  motion ;  now  rushing  forward,  press- 
ing toward  the  defile,  before  which 
their  enemy  are  quietly  fonning  their 
line  of  battle,  although  scarcely  fearing 
a  conflict,  for  are  the  Prussians  not 
sleeping?  They  expected  a  bloodless 
victory. 

But  the  Prussians  are  awake;  it  is 
they  who  attack  the  surprised  Aus- 
trians. They  have  already  driven  the 
cavalry  back  into  the  nirrow  defile. 


The  thunders  of  their  cannon  aie  now 
heard,  and  they  bear  the  appalling  news 
to  the  Austrians  that  the  Prussians  are 
not  sleeping. 

Karl  von  Lothi-ingen,  you  should 
have  known  the  Prussians  better.  Did 
not  they  out-manoeuvre  you  two  short 
months  since  ?  Did  not  Frederick 
make  a  pretence  of  retreating,  in  order 
to  draw  you  on  out  of  your  favorable 
position,  and  then  attack  you,  and  win, 
in  a  few  short  morning  hours,  a  glori- 
ous victory  ?  Karl  von  Lothringen,  you 
should  have  remembered  Hohenfried- 
berg.  You  should  not  have  imagined 
that  the  Prussians  slept  while  the  Aus- 
trians stood  before  them  in  battle  ar- 
ray. The  Prussians  are  indeed  awake. 
Listen  to  their  joyous  shouts,  look  at 
their  flashing  swords ! 

Karl  von  Lothringen,  where  are  your 
troops  which  were  intended  to  attack 
the  enemy  in  the  rear?  "Where  is 
Trenck  with  his  pandours  ?  where 
General  Nadasti,  with  his  well-disci- 
plined regiments?  If  your  hope  is  in 
these,  then  despair,  and  thrust  your 
sword  in  its  sheath. 

The  Prussians  have  deserted  their 
camp ;  the  enemy  is  before  them ;  in 
their  pursuit  they  have  left  all  behind 
them  ;  they  thought  not  of  earthly  pos- 
sessions, but  of  honor  and  victory. 
Every  thing  was  left  in  the  camp. 
The  king's  entire  camp-furniture,  and 
even  the  army  treasure. 

Karl  von  Lothringen,  hope  nothing 
from  Trenck  and  his  pandours ;  nothing 
from  Nadasti  and  his  regiments.  Thej 
have  obeyed  your  commands ;  thej 
have  pressed  into  the  enemy's  camp; 
they  are  taking  prizes,  plundering 
grcedilJ^  What  care  they  for  the  bat- 
tle which  thunders  and  roars  before 
them  ?  the  cannon-balls  do  not  reach 
them ;  they  can  enrich  themselves  in 
the  camp  of  the  Prussians  whilst  theoe 
are  gaining  a  glorious  victory. 

The  battle  is  not  yet  deci/led.     "U 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


159 


Frenck  and  Nadasti  attack  our  rear," 
said  the  king,  "  we  are  lost." 

At  this  moment  an  adjutant  an- 
nounced to  him  that  Trenck  and  Na- 
dasti  were  plundering  the  Prussian 
camp. 

The  king's  countenance  beamed  with 
delight.  "  Let  them  plunder,"  he  said, 
joyfully,  "  whilst  they  are  so  occupied 
they  will  not  interfere  with  our  im- 
portant work.  Whilst  they  plunder, 
we  will  conquer." 

Yes,  the  battle  is  decided ;  while  tl^e 
Austrians  plundered,  the  Prussians  con- 
quered. Karl  von  Lothringen,  over- 
come with  grief  and  shame,  is  retreat- 
ing with  his  disorganized  troops. 

The  Prussians  have  gained  the  day, 
but  it  was  a  fearful  victory,  a  murder- 
oas  battle  between  brothers,  German 
against  German,  brother  against  brother. 

The  Duke  Albrecht,  of  Brunswick, 
has  fallen  by  the  side  of  the  king ;  his 
brother  Ludwig  lies  covered  with 
wounds  in  the  Austrian  camp. 

Poor  Queen  Elizabeth  Christine,,  your 
husband  has  conquered,  but  you  have 
both  paid  dearly  for  the  victory.  The 
king  has  lost  his  tent,  his  camp-furni- 
ture, and  eighty  thousand  ducats,  and 
the  baggage  of  the  entire  army.  You 
have  lost  one  brother,  and  the  other 
lies  covered  with  bloody  wounds.  The 
king  has  gained  the  battle.  His  is  the 
fame  and  honor.  You,  poor  queen,  you 
have  only  a  new  grief.  Yours  are  the 
tears  and  the  pain. 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

AFTER    THE    BATTLE. 

The  Prussians  were  resting  from 
their  labors,  not  in  comfortable  tents  or 
on  soft  cushions,  but  on  the  hard  ground, 
with  no  protection  against  sun  and 
wind,  and  not  too  distant  from  the 


battle-field  to  hear  the  heart-rending 
cries  and  groans  of  their  dying  com- 
rades. But  even  these  cries  and  groans 
were  to  the  triumphant  Prussians  the 
sign  of  their  glorious  victory,  and 
awoke  in  those  who  had  escaped  un- 
scathed through  this  terrible  fire  a  feel- 
ing of  deep  gratitude. 

After  these  fearful  hours  of  excite- 
ment followed  a  general  lassitude,  a 
positive  physical  necessity  for  rest. 
But,  alas !  there  was  something  which 
drove  sleep  from  their  eyelids,  and  in- 
creased the  weariness  of  their  bodies. 
This  was  hunger.  The  pandours  had 
thoroughly  plundered  the  Prussian 
camp  ;  they  had  taken  not  only  the 
baggage  of  the  poor  soldiers,  but  all 
their  provisions. 

The  Prussians,  who  had  obtained  so 
glorious  a  triumph  in  the  morning, 
were  now  looking  forward  to  a  day  of 
fasting,  while  the  Austrians,  in  spite  of 
their  defeat,  were  consoling  themselves 
with  the  provisions  which  they  had 
taken  from  the  Prussians.  Happy  was 
he  who  had  a  i^iece  of  bread  in  his  knap- 
sack, or  whose  tent  had  been  overlooked 
or  forgotten  by  the  plunderers ;  but  few 
had  been  so  fortunate,  and  these  in  the 
egotism  of  hunger  refused  to  share  their 
precious  treasure,  even  with  their  dear- 
est friend. 

King  Frederick  was  not  among  the 
fortunate.  The  victory  was  his,  but  his 
laurel-wreath  could  not  be  transformed 
into  bread.  He  had  said  in  vain  to  his 
generals  and  adjutants,  "  We  will  dine." 
There  was  nothing  to  set  before  the  king 

When  General  Rothenberg  brought 
this  disagreeable  news  to  the  king,  he 
said,  laughing  gayly:  "  Let  us  imagine 
ourselves  to  be  Catholics,  my  friends, 
for  the  present,  and  it  will  be  quite  in 
order  that  we  should  fast  on  the  day  of 
a  glorious  victory.  I  will  be  quite  con- 
tented with  a  piece  of  bread,  and  I  sup- 
pose that  can  be  found  somewhere  for 
the  King  of  Prussia  " 


160 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


But  General  Rotlienberg's  order  to 
the  royal  cook  to  satisfy  the  simple  de- 
mand of  his  master  was  in  vain.  The 
cook  had  nothing,  neither  meat,  fruit, 
nor  bread. 

"  I  will  not  return  empty-handed  to 
the  king,"  said  Rothenberg,  with  tears 
in  his  eyes.  "  I  would  sooner  part  with 
my  last  ducat  to  the  first  soldier  I  meet 
who  has  a  piece  of  bread." 

The  general  then  passed,  with  inquis- 
itive glances,  through  the  groups  of 
soldiers  who  were  talking  over  the 
events  of  the  last  few  hours.  At  last 
he  perceived  a  soldier  who  was  not 
talking,  but  was  ogling  a  piece  of  bread 
which  he  seemed  preparing  to  devour. 
With  a  hasty  spring  the  general  was  at 
his  side,  his  hand  upon  the  bread. 

"  I  will  give  you  two  ducats  for  this 
piece  of  bread,  my  friend." 

"  Two  ducats!  what  should  I  do 
with  two  ducats?"  he  asked,  with  a 
scornful  laugh.  "  I  cannot  eat  your 
ducats,  general,  and  my  bread  is  more 
precious  to  me  than  a  handful  of 
ducats." 

"  If  you  will  not  give  it  for  gold, 
then  give  it  for  love."  cried  the  general. 
"  For  love  of  your  king  who  is  hungry, 
and  has  nothing  to  satisfy  his  crav- 
ing." 

The  countenance  of  the  soldier, 
which  had  been  so  smiling,  became 
earnest,  and  he  murmured  thought- 
fully to  himself,  "  The  king  has  no 
bread ! " 

"  The  king  is  hungry,"  repeated  Ro- 
thenberg, almost  imploringly. 

"  The  king  is  hungry,"  murmured 
the  soldier,  sadly,  as  he  glanced  at  the 
bread  in  his  hand.  Then,  with  quiet 
determination,  he  cut  the  loaf  in  two 
pieces,  and  handing  one  to  the  general, 
he  said,  "  I  will  give  you  half  of  my 
bread,  that  is  really  all  I  can  do  for  the 
'dng.  Take  it,  general,  the  matter  is 
settled.    I  will  give  no  more." 

"  I  desire  no  more,"  cried  Rothen- 


berg, as  he  hurried  off  with  the  bread 
to  the  newly-erected  tent  ©f  the  king. 

The  soldier  looked  smilingly  after 
him,  but  suddenly  his  countenance  be- 
came overcast,  he  was  seized  with  a 
fearful  idea — suppose  the  general  had 
deceived  him,  and  the  bread  was  not 
for  the  king  ?  He  must  know,  he  must 
convince  himself  that  the  statement 
was  true.  He  followed  the  general  rap- 
idly, and  soon  overtook  him,  Rothen- 
berg perceived  him,  and  understood 
instantly  why  he  had  followed  him. 
Smilingly  he  entered  the  presence  of 
the  king. 

"  My  king,  I  am  here,  and  bring  what 
you  demanded,  a  piece  of  bread." 

"  Ah,  that  means  renewed  strength," 
said  the  king,  as  he  received  the  bread 
and  commenced  eating  it  with  evident 
satisfaction.  "How  did  you  procure 
this  bread  for  me,  my  friend  ? " 

"  Sire,  I  obtained  it  of  a  soldier,  who 
refused  to  sell  it,  but  who  gladly  gave 
it  to  me  when  he  heard  it  was  for  the 
king.  Afterward  he  conceived  a  doubt 
that  I  had  deceived  him,  and  that  I 
had  obtained  his  treasure  for  my  own 
gratification.  He  followed  me,  and  I 
wager  he  is  standing  without,  longing 
to  know  if  the  king  is  really  eating  his 
bread." 

"  I  will  gratify  his  desire,"  said  Fred- 
erick, smiling,  as  he  raised  the  curtain 
of  the  tent,  and  stood  in  the  opening. 

There  stood  the  soldier,  staring  at 
the  tent,  but  he  trembled  when  he  per- 
ceived the  king.  Frederick  nodded  to 
him  most  kindly,  and  i^roceeded  to  cut 
the  bread   which  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"I  thank  you  for  your  bread,"  he 
said ;  "  my  friend,  you  must  ask  some 
favor  of  me.  Think  what  you  would 
wish." 

"  Oh  !  I  need  not  think,"  the  soldier 
cried  joyfully.  "If  I  may  wish  for 
something,  it  shall  be  the  position  of 
magistrate  in  my  native  land  in  Prus- 
sia." 


mEDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


161 


"  "When  peace  is  declared,  your  wish 
8hall  be  gratified,"  said  the  king  to  the 
delighted  soldier,  and  then,  bowing 
graciously,  Frederick  reentered  the  tent. 

"  Now  my  friend,  my  Pylades,  we 
will  allow  ourselves  an  hour  of  rest,  of 
recreation  ;  I  think  we  have  earned  it. 
Come  and  read  aloud  to  me." 

*'  What  shall  I  read  to  your  majes- 
ty ?  "  asked  Rothenberg,  evidently  em- 
barrassed. 

"  You  may  read  from  Horace." 

"  Your  majesty  does  not  know — " 
said  Rothenberg,  hesitatingly. 

"What  do  I  not  know?" 

"  That  the  pandours  have  carried  off 
your  camp  library." 

"What !  my  books  too?  "  demanded 
the  king,  and  a  cloud  darkened  his 
brow.  "What  can  the  pandours  and 
Croats  do  with  my  poor  books  ?  Could 
they  not  content  themselves  with  my 
treasure  and  my  silver-ware?  Must 
they  take  what  is  so  worthless  to  them, 
and  so  precious  to  me  ? " 

Then,  with  bent  brows,  his  hands 
crossed  behind  him,  he  paced  back  and 
forth  in  the  narrow  tent.  Suddenly 
arresting  his  steps,  he  glanced  around 
the  tent,  as  if  in  search  of  something. 
"Biche  is  not  hei-e,"  he  said  quietly; 
"  bring  Biche  to  me,  my  friend." 

But  General  Rothenberg  did  not 
move. 

"  Well ! "  exclaimed  the  king. 

"  Sire,  they  have  taken  Biche  with 
them  also." 

"  Biche  also,  my  faithful  friend,  my 
pet  I  "  cried  the  king,  with  much  emo- 
tion, as  he  again  began  his  walk.  At 
length,  approaching  the  general,  he 
placed  both  hands  upon  his  shoulder 
and  looked  tenderly  into  his  eyes.  "  I 
have  my  friend,"  he  said  gently,  "  why 
should  I  be  troubled  about  my  books 
or  my  dog  ?  I  will  send  to  Berlin  and 
have  the  books  replaced,  and  I  will 
ransom  Biche.  They  cannot  refuse  to 
If  restore  the  faithful  animal  to  me." 
n 


There  was  an  expression  of  such  anx- 
iety on  the  king's  features,  that  Roth- 
enberg was  much  moved. 

"  I  cio  not  doubt,  sire,"  he  said, "  that 
your  favorite  will  be  returned  to  you. 
Your  majesty  may  well  trust  to  that 
Providence  which  has  vouchsafed  you 
so  glorious  a  victory." 

The  king  replied,  smiling :  "I  will 
tell  you  a  secret,  my  friend.  I  deserved 
to  be  overcome  in  this  battle,  for  I  had 
weakened  my  army  too  much  by  de- 
tachments. Nothing  l>ut  the  skill  of 
my  generals,  and  the  bravery  of  my 
troops,  saved  me  from  a  defeat.  Some- 
thing is  also  due  to  the  avarice  of  the 
pandours  and  Croats  ;  a  branch  of  our 
laurel -wreath  belongs  justly  to  Nadasti 
and  Trenck.  It  is  most  fortunate  that 
the  courier  who  brought  those  last  dis- 
patches from  Berlin,  did  not  arrive 
during  the  battle.  He  would  certainly 
have  been  captured  by  the  pandours, 
and  my  dispatches  lost.  My  friend,  do 
you  not  see  how  Providence  marks  out 
for  me  the  path  of  duty  ?  A  king  dare 
not  waste  a  moment  in  dreams  or  idle 
pleasures.  I  wished  to  live  an  hour  for 
myself,  when  I  should  have  been  read- 
ing these  dispatches.  We  will  go  to 
work  ;  here  is  the  key  of  the  dispatch- 
bag;  open  it  and  take  out  the  letters." 

The  king  then  seated  himself  before 
the  common  deal  table  which  stood  in 
the  centre  of  the  tent,  and  assorted  the 
papers  which  Rothenberg  handed  to 
him. 

"  We  will  read  first  the  letters  from 
our  friends,"  said  the  king,  placing  the 
dispatches  and  papers  on  one  side. 
"Hei-e  are  letters  from  D'Argens,  and 
from  Knobelsdorf,  but  none  from  Du- 
han,  or  Jordan,  or  Kaiserling,  What 
does  that  mean  ?  I  fear  that  all  is  not 
right.  Ah,  here  is  a  letter  for  you,  my 
friend,  in  the  handwriting  of  Duhan. 
He  writes  to  you,  and  not  to  me. 
Read,  Rothenberg,  and  tell  me  its  con 
tents." 


162 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


The  king  then  opened  one  of  his  own 
letters,  but  it  was  evident  that  U  did 
Dot  occupy  his  attention.  He  raised 
his  eyes  every  few  seconds  to  look  at 
the  general,  Avho  had  become  very  pale 
on  first  openuig  liis  letter,  and  whose 
countenance  now  bore  an  expression  of 
pain,  Frederick  could  no  longer  en- 
dure this  silence.  He  arose  hastily, 
and  approached  Rothenberg. 

"  My  friend,"  he  said,  ''  Duhan  has 
written  something  to  you  that  he 
would  not  write  to  me  —  something 
most  painful.  I  see  by  your  counte- 
nance." 

"  Your  majesty  is  right ;  my  letters 
contain  most  distressing  intelligence." 

"  Ah  !  "  murmured  the  king,  as  he 
turned  from  Rothenberg,  "  I  fear  I  have 
not  the  strength  to  support  this  coming 
trial."  After  a  pause,  he  continued : 
"Now,  my  friend,  tell  me,  are  my 
mother  and  sisters  well  ?  " 

"  Sire,  the  entire  royal  family  are 
well." 

"■  Your  intelligence,  then,  relates  to 
my  friends.  Two  of  them  are  ill — yes, 
jwo.  How  is  Jordan  ?  You  do  not 
inswer — you  weep.     How  is  Jordan  ? " 

*'  She,  Jordan  is  dead." 

"  Dead  !  "  cried  the  king,  as  he  sank 
powerless  upon  his  chair  and  covered 
ais  face  with  his  hands,  "  Dead  !  my 
Oest,  my  dearest  friend  is  dead  ?  " 

"  His  death  was  as  bright  and  peace- 
ful as  his  life,"  replied  Rothenberg. 
''  His  last  word  was  a  farewell  to  your 
majesty,  his  last  act  was  to  write  to  his 
&mg.     Here  is  the  letter,  sire." 

The  king  silently  received  the  letter 
/rom  Rothenberg.  Two  great  tears 
fan  slowly  down  his  cheeks,  and,  falling 
">n  the  letter,  obliterated  some  words  of 
che  address.  "Jordan's  hand  wrote 
these  words  for  the  last  time;  this  idle 
citle  'his  majesty' — and  my  tears  have 
washed  it  away.  Jordan  1  Jordan  !  I 
aun  no  longer  a  king,  but  a  pr^or,  weak 
caan  who  mourns  for  his  lost  fnend." 


He  pressed  the  paper  passionately  t/i 
his  lips ;  then  placed  it  in  his  bosom, 
and  turned  once  more  to  Rothenbei'g. 

"  Tell  me  the  rest,  my  friend ;  I  am 
resigned  to  all  things  now." 

"  Did  you  not  say,  sire,  that  you  had 
left  two  friends  ill  in  Berlin  ? " 

"  Jordan  and  Kaiserling,  You  do 
not  mean  that  Kaiserling  also — oh,  no, 
no !  that  is  impossible !  Jordan  is 
dead,  and  I  knew  that  he  must  die; 
but  Kaiserling  will  recover — I  feel,  1 
know  it." 

"Your  majesty,"  said  Rothenberg, 
"  if  I  were  a  pious  priest,  I  would  say 
Kaiserling  has  recovered,  for  his  soul 
has  returned  to  God." 

"  Kaiserling  dead  also  I  Rothenberg, 
how  could  you  find  the  courage  to  tell 
me  this  ?  Two  friends  lost  in  a  mo- 
ment of  time."  The  king  said  nothing 
more.  His  head  sank  upon  his  breast, 
and  he  wept  bitterly.  After  a  time  he 
raised  his  head,  and  said,  as  if  to  him- 
self: "My  two  friends!  They  were 
my  family — now  I  am  orphaned,  Sor- 
row^  will  make  a  desert  of  my  heart, 
and  men  will  call  me  cold  and  heart- 
less. They  will  not  know  that  my 
heart  is  a  graveyard,  wherein  my  frienda 
lie  buried," 

The  tears  ran  slowly  down  his  cheeks 
as  he  uttered  this  death-wail.  So  deep 
was  the  grief  depicted  on  the  counte- 
nance of  the  kingy  that  Rothenberg 
could  no  longer  restrain  himself.  He 
rushed  to  the  king,  and  sinking  on  his 
knees  beside  him,  seized  his  hands  and 
covered  them  with  tears  and  kisses. 

"  Oh,  my  king,  my  hero  !  cease  to 
mourn,  if  you  do  not  wish  to  see  me  die 
of  grief." 

The  king  smiled  mournfully,  as  he 
replied :  "  If  one  could  die  of  grief,  i 
would  not  have  survived  this  hour." 

"What  would  the  world  think  could 
they  see  this  great  conqueror  forget- 
ting his  triumphs  and  indulging  sutb 
grief?" 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


163 


"  Ah,  my  /ricnd,  you  desire  to  console 
me  with  the  remembrance  of  this  vic- 
tory !  I  rejoice  that  I  have  preserved 
my  land  from  a  cruel  misfortune,  and 
that  my  troops  are  crowned  with  glory. 
But  my  personal  vanity  finds  no  food 
in  this  victory.  The  welfare  and  the 
happiness  of  my  people  alone  lie  on  my 
heart — I  thLak  not  of  my  own  fleeting 
fame." 

"  The  fame  of  my  king  is  not  fleeting. 
It  will  live  in  future  years,"  cried  the 
general. 

The  king  shrugged  his  shoulders  al- 
most contemptuously.  "  Only  death 
stamps  fame  upon  kings'  lives.  For 
the  present,  I  am  content  to  fulfil  my 
duties  to  the  best  of  my  ability.  To  be 
a  true  king,  a  monarch  must  be  willing 
to  resign  all  personal  happiness.  As  for 
me,  Rothenberg,  on  this  day,  when  I, 
as  king,  am  peculiarly  fortunate,  my 
heart  is  wrung  by  the  loss  of  two  dear 
friends.  The  man  must  pay  for  the 
happiness  of  the  king.  But,"  said  the 
king,  after  a  pause,  "  this  is  tlie  dealing 
of  the  Almighty ;  I  must  submit  si- 
lently. Would  that  my  heart  were  si- 
lent !  I  will  tell  you  something,  my 
fi'iend.  I  fear  that  I  was  unjust  to  Mac- 
chiavelli.  He  was  right — only  a  man 
with  a  heart  of  iron  can  be  a  king,  for 
he  alone  could  think  entirely  of  his 
people." 

"  How  suffering  and  full  of  grief  must 
my  king  be  to  speak  thus  !  You  have 
lost  two  dear  friends,  sire.  I  also  mourn 
their  loss,  but  am  suffering  from  a  still 
deeper  gi-vef.  I  have  lost  the  love  of 
my  king.  I  have  lost  faith  in  the 
friendship  of  my  Frederick,"  said  Ro- 
thenberg. sighing  deeply. 

"My  Rothenberg,"  said  the  king, 
with  his  deep,  tender  voice,  "  look  at 
me,  and  tell  me  what  men  call  you, 
when  tliey  speak  of  you  and  me  ? " 

"  I  hope  they  call  me  your  majesty's 
most  faithful  servant." 

"  No,  they  call  you  my  favorite,  and 


what  they  say  is  true.  Vox  popuh 
vox  Dei.  Come  to  my  heart,  my  favor- 
ite." 

''  Ah !  my  king,  my  prince,  my 
friend,"  cried  Rothenberg,  enthusiasti- 
cally, as  he  threw  himself  into  the  arms 
of  the  king. 

They  stood  long  thus,  heart  pressed 
to  heart ;  and  who  that  had  seen  them, 
the  king  and  the  hero,  the  conquerors 
of  the  day,  would  have  imagined  that 
their  tears  were  not  the  tears  of  happi- 
ness and  triumph,  but  of  suffering  and 
love  ? 

"  And  now,"  said  Frederick,  after  a 
pause,  "  let  me  again  be  king.  I  must 
return  to  my  duties." 

He  seated  himself  at  the  table,  and 
Rothenberg,  after  taking  from  the  dis- 
patch-bag a  number  of  documents  bear- 
ing the  state  seal,  handed  the  king  a 
daintily  perfumed,  rose-colored  note. 
The  king  would  not  receive  it,  although 
a  light  blush  mounted  to  his  brow,  and 
his  eyes  beamed  more  brightly. 

"  Lay  that  on  one  side,"  he  said,  "  I 
cannot  read  it ;  the  notes  of  the  Mise- 
rere ai"e  still  sounding  in  my  heart,  and 
this  operatic  air  Avould  but  create  a 
discord.  We  will  proceed  to  read  the 
dispatches." 


CHAPTER  VnX. 

A  LETTER  PREGNANT  WITH  FATE. 

The  king  was  not  the  only  person, 
in  the  encampment  at  Sohr,  to  whom 
the  courier  brought  letters  from  Berlin ; 
the  colonel  of  every  regiment  had  re- 
ceived a  securely-locked  post-bag  con- 
taining the  letters  for  the  officers  and 
soldiers  of  his  regiment,  which  it  was 
his  duty  to  deliver.  To  avoid  errors  in 
the  distribution,  every  post-bag  was 
accompanied  by  a  list,  sent  from  the 
war  department,  on  which  each  person 


164 


BERLIN  Am)  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


to  -whom  a  letter  was  addressed  must 
write  a  receipt. 

Colonel  von  Jaschinsky  was  there- 
fore compelled  to  deliver  to  Lieutenant 
von  Trenck  both  the  letters  which 
were  addressed  to  him.  The  colonel 
looked  at  one  of  these  letters  with  a 
most  malicious  expression ;  he  was  not 
at  all  curious  concerning  its  contents, 
for  he  was  well  acquainted  with  them, 
and  knew  that  as  soon  as  Trenck  re- 
ceived it,  it  would  become  a  sword, 
whose  deadly  point  would  be  directed 
to  the  breast  of  the  young  man. 

He  knew  the  letter,  for  he  had  seen 
it  before,  but  he  had  not  delivered  it; 
he  had  fraudulently  withheld  it  from 
Trenck,  in  order  to  send  it  to  Berlin,  to 
his  friend  Pollnitz,  and  to  ask  him  if  he 
did  not  think  it  well  suited  to  accom- 
plish their  purpose  of  making  Lieuten- 
ant von  Trenck  harmless,  by  bringing 
about  his  utter  destruction.  Pollnitz 
had  not  answered  up  to  this  time,  but 
to-day  Colonel  von  Jaschinsky  had  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  him,  in  which  he 
Staid :  "  It  is  now  time  to  allow  the  letter 
of  the  pandour  to  work.  I  carried  the 
letter  to  the  post,  and  I  imagine  that  I 
played  the  part  of  a  Job's  messenger  to 
this  impertinent  young  officer,  who  al- 
lows himself  to  believe  that  his  colonel 
owes  him  two  hundred  ducats.  If  you 
have  ever  really  been  his  debtor,  he  will 
certainly  be  yours  from  to-day,  for  to 
you  he  will  owe  free  quarters  in  one  of 
the  Prussian  forts,  and  I  hope  for  no 
short  time.  When  you  inform  the 
king  of  this  letter  from  the  pandour, 
you  can  also  say  that  Lieutenant  von 
Trenck  received  a  second  letter  from 
Berlin,  and  that  you  believe  it  to  be 
from  a  lady.  Perhaps  the  king  will 
demand  this  letter,  which  I  am  posi- 
tive Trenck  will  receive,  for  I  mailed 
it  myself,  and  it  is  equally  certain 
that  he  wUl  not  destroy  it,  for  lovers 
do  not  destroy  the  letters  of  the  be- 
loved." 


No,  lovers  never  destroy  the  letters 
of  the  beloved.  What  would  have 
induced  Frederick  von  Trenck  to  de- 
stroy this  i)aper,  on  which  Tier  hand 
had  rested,  her  eyes  had  looked  upon, 
her  breath  touched,  and  on  which  her 
love,  her  vows,  her  longing,  and  her 
faith,  were  depicted  ?  No,  he  would 
not  have  exchanged  it  for  all  the  treas- 
ures of  the  world — this  holy,  this  pre- 
cious paper,  which  said  to  him  that 
the  Princess  Amelia  had  not  forgotten 
him,  that  she  was  determined  to  wait 
with  patience,  and  love,  and  faith,  until 
her  hero  returned,  covered  with  glory, 
with  a  laurel-wreath  on  his  brow, 
which  would  be  brighter  and  more 
beautiful  than  the  crown  of  a  king. 

As  Trenck  read  these  lines  he  wept 
with  shame  and  humiliation.  Two 
battles  had  been  already  won,  and  his 
name  had  remained  dark  and  un- 
known ;  two  battles,  and  none  of  those 
heroic  deeds  which  his  beloved  expect- 
ed from  him  with  such  certainty,  had 
come  in  his  path.  He  had  performed 
his  duty  as  a  brave  soldier,  but  he  had 
not  accomplished  such  an  heroic  act  as 
that  of  Krauel,  in  the  past  year,  which 
had  raised  the  common  soldier  to  the 
title  of  Baron  I&auel  von  Ziskaberg, 
and  had  given  to  the  unknown  peasant 
a  name  whose  fame  would  extend  over 
centuries.  He  had  not  astonished  the 
whole  world  with  a  daring,  unheard- 
of  undertaking,  such  as  that  of  Zie- 
then,  who  had  passed  with  his  hussars, 
unknown,  through  the  Austrian  camp. 
He  had  been  nothing  but  a  brave  sol- 
dier— ^he  had  done  nothing  more  than 
many  thousands.  He  felt  the  strength 
and  the  courage  to  tear  the  very  stars 
from  heaven,  that  he  might  bind  them 
as  a  diadem  upon  the  brow  of  his  be- 
loved ;  to  battle  with  the  Titans,  and 
plunge  them  into  the  abyss ;  to  bear 
upon  his  shoulders  the  whole  world; 
as  Atlas  did;  he  felt  in  himself  the 
power,  the  daring,  the   will,  anf^   thf 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT   AXD   HIS  FRIENDS. 


165 


ability  of  a  hero.  But  the  opportunity 
failed  him. 

The  deeds  which  he  longed  to  ac- 
complish did  not  lie  in  his  patb.  And 
thus,  in  spite  of  two  victorious  battles 
in  which  he  had  fought ;  in  spite  of 
the  evident  good-will  of  the  king,  he 
had  remained  what  he  was,  the  un- 
known and  undistinguished  Lieutenant 
von  Trenck.  With  a  trembling  heart 
he  demanded  of  himself  if  the  Prin- 
cess Amelia  would  continue  to  love 
him  if  he  returned  to  her  as  he  had  de- 
parted ;  if  her  proud,  pure  heart  could 
stand  that  severest  of  all  tests,  the  dis- 
covery that  she  had  bestowed  her  love 
upon  an  ordinary,  undistinguished 
man. 

"  No,  no  ! "  he  cried,  "  I  have  not  the 
courage  to  return  thus  to  her.  If  I 
cannot  distinguish  myself,  I  can  die. 
In  the  next  battle  1  will  conquer  fame 
or  death.  And  if  I  fall,  she  will  weep 
for  me.  Th  at  would  be  a  far  happier  fate 
than  living  to  be  forgot  ten  or  despised 
by  her." 

He  pressed  Amelia's  letter  to  his  lips, 
then  placed  it  in  his  bosom,  and  opened 
the  second  letter.  Whilst  he  read,  an 
expression  of  astonishment  appeared 
on  his  features,  and  a  smile,  half  gay, 
half  scornful,  played  upon  his  full, 
fresh  lips.  Soon,  however,  his  features 
grew  earnest,  and  a  dark  shadow 
clouded  his  youthful  brow. 

"  If  I  had  enemies,  they  could  de- 
stroy me  with  this  letter,"  he  said,  in  a 
low  voice.  "  It  could,  wild  and  silly 
as  it  is,  be  made  to  represent  me  as  a 
traitor.  Perhaps  it  is  a  pitfall  which 
has  been  prepared  for  me.  Is  it  possi- 
ble that  the  authorities  should  have 
allowed  this  letter,  coming  evidently 
from  inimical  Austria,  to  pass  unread 
through  their  hands  ?  I  will  go  imme- 
diately to  my  colcjnel  and  show  him 
this  letter,"  said  Trenck.  "  He  can 
then  inform  the  king  of  it  if  he  think 
it  necessary.     Concealment  might   be 


more  dangerous  for  me  than  an  open 
acknowledgment." 

And  placing  this  second  letter  also 
in  his  bosom,  Trenck  proceeded  to  the 
tent  of  Colonel  von  Jaschinsky,  who 
welcomed  him  with  unusual  warmth. 

"  Colonel,"  said  Trenck,  "  do  you  re- 
member the  singular  letter  which  I  re- 
ceived six  months  since  from  my  cousin, 
Baron  von  Trenck,  colonel  of  the  pan- 
dours  ? " 

"  Ah,  you  mean  that  letter  in  which 
he  invites  you  to  come  to  Austria,  and 
promised,  should  you  do  so,  to  make 
you  his  sole  heir  ? " 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  letter  I  mean.  I 
informed  you  of  it  at  the  time,  and 
asked  your  advice." 

"  What  advice  did  I  give  you  ?  " 

"  That  I  should  reply  kindly  and 
gratefully  to  my  cousin ;  that  I  should 
not  appear  indifferent  or  ungrateful  for 
a  proposal  by  which  I  might  become  a 
millionnaire.  You  advised  me  to  de- 
cline going  to  Austria,  but  only  to  de- 
cline so  long  as  there  was  war  between 
Prussia  and  Austria." 

"  Well,  I  think  the  advice  was  good, 
and  that  you  may  still  follow  it." 

"  You  advised  me  also  to  write  to 
my  cousin  to  send  me  some  of  those 
beautiful  Hungarian  horses,  and  prom- 
ised to  forward  my  letter  through 
Baron  von  Bossart,  the  Saxon  ambassa- 
dor ;  but  on  the  condition  that  when  I 
received  the  Hungarian  horses,  I  should 
present  one  of  them  to  you." 

"  That  was  only  a  jest — a  jest  which 
binds  you  to  nothing,  and  of  which 
you  have  no  proofs." 

"  I !  "  asked  Trenck,  astonished ; 
"  what  proof  do  I  need  that  I  promised 
you  a  Hungarian  horse  ?  What  do  I 
want  with  proofs  ?  " 

Count  Jaschinsky  looked  embarrassed 
before  the  open,  trusting  expression  of 
the  young  officer.  His  singular  remark 
would  have  betrayed  him  to  a  more 
suspicious,  a  more  worldly-wise  man 


t66 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


who  would  have  perceived  from  it  the 
possibility  of  some  danger,  from  which 
Jaschinsky  was  seeking  to  extncate 
himself. 

"  I  did  not  mean,"  said  the  count, 
laughing,  ''  that  you  needed  a  proof;  I 
only  wished  to  say  that  I  had  no  proof 
that  you  had  promised  me  a  Hungarian 
horse,  and  that  you  need  not  feel 
obliged  to  give  me  one." 

"  Yes,  colonel,  your  request  and  my 
promise  occurred  before  witnesses. 
Lieutenant  von  Stadnitz  and  Ensign 
von  Wagnitz  were  present ;  and  if  that 
had  not  been  the  case,  I  should  con- 
sider my  word  binding.  But  at  present 
I  have  no  Hungarian  horses,  only  an  an- 
swer from  my  singular  cousin,  the  con- 
tents of  which  I  wish  to  impart  to  you." 

'*Ah,  the  colonel  of  the  pandours 
has  answered  you  ? "  asked  Jaschinsky, 
with  well-dissembled  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  he  has  answered  me,  and  has 
Avritten  me  the  most  singular  letter 
that  one  can  imagine.  Only  listen  to 
it." 

And  Frederick  von  Trenck  hastily 
pulled  out  the  letter  which  he  had  put 
in  his  bosom.  Entirely  occupied  with 
this  subject,  and  thinking  of  nothing 
else,  he  opened  the  letter  and  read : 

'•  From  yours,  dated  Berlin,  Febru- 
ary 12th,  I  ascertain  that  you  desire 
some  Hungarian  horses  on  which  to 
meet  my  hussars  and  pandours.  I 
learned  with  much  pleasure,  in  the  last 
campaign,  that  the  Prussian  Trenck 
was  a  brave  soldier ;  as  a  proof  of  my 
consideration,  I  returned  to  you  at  that 
time  the  horses  which  my  men  had 
captured  from  you.  If  you  desire  to 
ride  Hungarian  horses,  you  must  take 
mine  from  me  on  the  field,  or  come  to 
your  cousin,  who  will  receive  you  with 
open  arms  as  his  son  and  friend,  and 
accord  you  every  wish  of  your  heart." 

Had  Trenck  looked  less  attentively 
at  his  letter,  while  reading,  he  would 
have  perceived    that  Jaschinsky   was 


paying  but  slight  attention  (he  was 
looking  attentively  on  the  floor)  ;  he 
quietly  approached  Trenck,  and  placed 
his  foot  upon  something  which  he  evi- 
dently wished  to  conceal.  He  then 
stood  still,  and  as  Trenck  finished 
reading  he  broke  into  a  loud  laugh,  in 
which  the  young  officer  joined  him. 

"  Your  cousin  is  a  droll  man,"  said 
the  count,  "and  under  the  conditions 
which  he  ofifers  you,  I  will  still  accept 
your  Hungarian  horse.  Perhaps  you 
will  soon  find  an  opportunity  to  give 
it  to  me,  for  I  believe  we  are  about  to 
attack  Hungary,  and  you  can  yourself 
procure  the  horses.  But  now,  my 
young  friend,  excuse  me  ;  I  must  go  to 
the  king  to  give  my  report.  You  know 
he  will  endure  no  neglect  of  duty. 
After  the  war  council  I  will  see  you 
again." 

Trenck  took  leave,  a  little  surprised 
at  the  sudden  dismissal.  The  colonel 
did  not  accompany  him,  as  usual.  He 
remained  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
tent  until  he  was  alone;  then  stooping 
down,  he  drew  from  under  his  foot  the 
daintily  folded  letter  that  he  had  con- 
cealed while  Trenck  was  present. 

Count  Jaschinsky  had  seen  Avhat 
had  escaped  Trenck.  He  saw  that 
Trenck,  in  taking  out  the  letter  from 
his  cousin,  had  let  fall  another  paper, 
and  while  Trenck  was  reading,  he  had 
managed  to  conceal  it  with  his  foot. 
Now  he  hastily  seized  this  paper,  and 
opened  it.  A  most  wicked  expression 
of  joy  overspread  his  countenance 
whilst  he  read,  and  then  he  said,  tri- 
umphantly: "Now  he  is  lost.  It  is  not 
necessary  to  tell  the  king  that  Trenck 
has  received  a  letter  from  a  lady ;  I  will 
take  him  the  letter  itself,  and  that  will 
condemn  Trenck  more  surely  than  any 
conspiracy  with  his  cousin.  Away  to 
the  king !  " 

But,  as  he  had  already  withdrawn 
the  curtain  of  his  tent,  he  remained  mo- 
tionless, and  apijeared  deep  in  thought. 


FREDERICK  TEE   GREAT   AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


167 


Then  lie  allowed  the  curtain  to  fall,  and 
returned  within. 

"  I  think  I  was  on  the  point  of  com- 
mitting a  great  folly.  This  letter 
would  of  course  accomplish  the  de- 
struction of  my  hated  creditor,  but  I 
doubt  exceedingly  if  I  would  escape 
unharmed  if  I  handed  this  ominous 
writing  to  the  king.  He  would  never 
forgive  me  for  having  discovered  this 
affair,  which  he,  of  course,  wishes  to 
conceal  from  the  whole  world.  The 
knowledge  of  such  a  secret  would  be 
most  dangerous,  and  I  prefer  to  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  How  can  I  man- 
age to  let  this  letter  reach  the  king, 
without  allowing  him  to  know  that  I 
am  acquainted  with  its  contents  ?  Ah, 
I  have  it !  "  he  cried,  after  a  long  pause, 
"  the  means  are  sure,  and  not  at  all 
dangerous  for  me." 

With  rapid  steps  he  left  his  tent,  and 
proceeded  to  that  of  the  king,  from 
whom  he  prayed  an  audience. 

"  Ah !  I  wager  that  you  come  to 
complain  of  some  one,"  said  the  king, 
as  Jaschinsky  entered.  "There  is  a 
wicked  light  in  your  eye.  Am  I  not 
right  ?  one  of  your  officers  has  com- 
mitted some  folly." 

'*  I  leave  the  decision  entirely  to  your 
majesty,"  said  Jaschinsky,  humbly. 
"Your  majesty  commanded  me  to 
watch  carefully  over  my  officers,  espe- 
cially the  Lieutenant  von  Trenck." 

"  Your  complaint  is  again  of  Trenck, 
then  V "  asked  the  king,  frowningly, 
'•  I  will  tell  you  before  we  begin,  unless 
it  is  something  important  I  do  not  wish 
to  hear  it ;  gossip  is  disagreeable  to  me. 
I  am  well  pleased  with  Trenck :  he  is  a 
brave  and  zealous  officer,  and  I  think 
He  aoes  not  neglect  his  duties.  Con- 
sider, therefore,  colonel,  unless  it  is  a 
grave  fault  of  which  you  have  to  com- 
plain, I  advise  you  to  remain  silent," 

"  I  hope  your  majesty  will  allow  me 
V)  proceed." 

"  Speak,"  said  the  king,  as  he  turned 


his  back  on  the  colonel,  and  appeared 
to  occupy  himself  with  the  books  on  hia 
table. 

"  Lieutenant  von  Trenck  received  a 
letter  by  the  post  to-day  which  i^oints, 
in  my  opinion,  to  an  utterly  unlawful 
proceeding." 

The  king  turned  hastily  and  looked 
so  angrily  at  the  colonel  that  he  invol- 
untarily withdrew  a  step.  "It  is  for- 
tunate that  I  did  not  hand  him  that 
letter,"  thought  Jaschinsky ;  "  in  his 
anger  the  king  would  have  destroyed 
me." 

"  From  whom  is  this  letter  ? "  de- 
manded the  king. 

"  Sire,  it  is  from  Baron  von  Trenck, 
the  colonel  of  the  pandours." 

The  king  appeared  relieved,  as  he 
replied,  with  a  smile :  "  This  pandour 
is  a  cousin  of  our  lieutenant." 

'•  But,  he  is  in  the  enemy's  camp ; 
and  I  do  not  think  it  proper  for  a 
Prussian  officer  to  request  one  in  the 
Austrian  service  to  send  him  a  pr6sent 
of  horses,  or  for  the  Austrian  to  invite 
the  Prussian  to  join  him." 

"Is  this  in  the  letter?"  asked  the 
king,  in  a  threatening  tone  ;  and  when 
Jaschinsky  answered  in  the  affirms^ 
tive,  he  said :  "  Give  me  the  letter ;  I 
must  convince  myself  with  my  own  eyes 
that  this  is  so." 

"  I  have  not  the  letter,  but  if  your 
majesty  desire,  I  will  demand  it  from 
Lieutenant  von  Trenck." 

"  And  if  he  has  burnt  the  letter  ? " 

"  Then  I  am  willing  to  take  an  oath 
that  what  I  have  related  was  in  the 
letter.  I  read  it  myself,  for  the  lieu- 
tenant showed  it  to  me." 

"  Bring  me  the  letter." 

Jaschinsky  went,  and  the  king  re- 
mained alone  and  thoughtful  in  hia 
tent.  "  If  he  were  a  traitor,  he  would 
surely  not  have  shown  the  letter  to 
Jaschinsky,"  said  ihe  king,  softly ;  "  no, 
his  brow  is  as  clear,  his  glance  as  open 
as  formerly.    Trenck  is  no  traitor — ur 


168 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


traitor  to  liis  country — I  fear  only  a 
traitor  to  his  own  happiness.  Well, 
perhaps  he  has  come  to  his  reason ;  I 
have  warned  him  repeatedly,  and  per- 
haps he  has  at  length  understood  me, 
— Where  is  the  letter  ? "  he  asked,  as 
Colonel  Jaschinsky  reentered. 

"  Sii'e,  here  it  is.  At  least,  I  think 
that  is  it.  I  did  not  take  time  to  glance 
at  the  paper,  in  my  haste  to  return  to 
your  ma]esty." 

"  Was  he  willing  to  give  the  let- 
ter ? '' 

"  He  said  nothing,  but  drew  it  in- 
stantly from  his  bosom,  and  I  brought 
it  to  your  majesty  without  glancing  at 
it." 

The  king  looked  searchingly  into  the 
countenance  of  the  colonel.  Jaschin- 
sky's  repeared  assurances  that  he  had 
not  looked  at  the  letter  surprised  the 
king,  and  led  him  to  suspect  some  hid- 
den motive,  lie  received  the  letter, 
and  opened  it  slowly  and  carefully.  He 
again  turned  liis  piercing  glance  upon 
the  countenance  of  Jaschinsky;  he  now 
perceived  the  rose-colored  letter,  which 
lay  in  the  folds  of  that  one  from  Colo- 
nel Trenck,  and  he  immediately  under- 
stood the  words  of  the  count.  This  little 
letter  was  really  the  kernel  of  the  whole 
matter,  and  Jaschinsky  preferred  to 
know  nothing  of  it. 

"Wait  outside  until  I  call  you.  I 
wish  to  read  this  letter  carefully,"  said 
the  king,  with  perfect  composure ;  but 
when  Jaschinsky  had  disappeared,  he 
hastily  unfolded  the  paper,  and,  throw- 
ing Trenck's  letter  on  the  table,  he 
took  the  other,  and  looking  carefully 
at  it,  he  said  softly,  "It  is  her  writing 
— yes,  it  is  her  writing,  and  all  my 
trouble  has  been  in  vain.  They  would 
not  imderstand  me.     They  are  lost  I  " 

And  sighing  deeply,  the  king  turned 
again  to  the  letter.  "  Poor,  miserable 
children,  why  should  I  not  make  them 
happy  ?  is  it  impossible  to  forget  pre- 
judice for  once,  and  to  allow  these  two 


beings  to  be  happy  in  their  own  way  ? 
So  strange  a  thing  is  the  heart  of  a  wo- 
man, that  she  prefers  an  orange-wreath 
to  a  crown !  Why  should  I  force  this 
young  girl  to  be  a  princess,  when  she 
only  desires  to  be  a  woman  ?  Shall  I 
allow  them  to  fly  away  into  some  wil- 
derness, and  there  create  a  paradise  ? 
But  how  soon  v.-ould  the  serpent  creep 
into  this  paradise !  how  soon  would 
satiety,  and  ennui,  and  repentance,  de- 
stroy their  elysium !  No,  the  daugh- 
ters of  the  Hohenzollerns  must  not 
stoop  for  happiness;  I  cannot  change 
it.  Fate  condemns  them,  not  I.  They 
are  condemned,  but  the  sword  which  is 
suspended  above  them  must  fall  only 
upon  his  head.  His  is  the  guilt,  for  he 
is  the  man.  His  stake  was  immense, 
and  he  has  lost  all." 

The  king  then  took  the  letter  of  Colo- 
nel Trenck,  and  read  it  attentively. 
"This  letter  bears  all-sufficient  testi- 
mony against  him  ;  it  is  the  iron  mask 
which  I  will  raise  before  his  crime,  that 
the  world  may  not  discover  it.  I  would 
laugh  at  this  letter  were  it  not  for  the 
other,  which  condemns  him.  This  will 
answer  as  an  excuse  for  his  punish- 
ment." 

The  king  arose  from  his  seat,  and 
placing  the  letter  of  the  princess  in  his 
bosom,  and  folding  the  other,  he  walk- 
ed hastily  to  the  opening  of  the  tent 
and  called  Jaschinsky. 

"  Colonel,"  he  said,  and  his  counte- 
nance was  troubled  but  determined, 
"you  were  right.  Lieutenant  vou 
Trenck  is  a  great  criminal,  for  this  let- 
ter contains  undeniable  proof  of  hia 
traitorous  connection  with  the  enemy. 
If  I  ordered  him  before  a  court-mar- 
tial, he  would  be  condemned  to  death. 
As  his  crime  may  have  grown  out  of 
carelessness  and  thoughtlessness,  I  will 
be  merciful,  and  try  if  a  few  years'  im- 
prisonment will  not  work  a  cure.  You 
can  inform  him  of  his  punishment, 
when  you  retmn  his  cousin's  letter  tc 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


109 


aim.  You  did  not  open  tiiis  letter 
when  you  brought  it  to  me  ?  " 

The  eye  of  the  king  rested  with  a 
threatening  expression  upon  the  colo- 
nel as  he  asked  this  question. 

"No,  your  majesty, — I  did  not  open 
it,''  replied  the  colonel. 

"  You  did  well,"  said  the  king,  "  for 
a  wasp  had  crept  within  it,  which 
might  have  given  you  a  deadly  wound. 
Go  now,  and  take  this  letter  to  Trenck, 
and  take  his  sword  from  him.  He  is 
under  arrest,  and  must  be  sent  at  once 
to  the  fortress  at  Glatz." 

"  Must  it  be  quietly  done  ? ''  asked 
Jaschinsky,  scarcely  able  to  conceal  his 
delight. 

"No,  on  the  contrary,  I  wish  the 
whole  army,  the  whole  world  to  know 
why  I  have  punished  Trenck.  You 
can  say  to  every  one  that  Trenck  is  a 
traitor,  who  has  carried  on  an  unlaw- 
ful corresj)ondence  with  his  cousin  in 
Austria,  and  has  conspired  with  the 
enemy.  His  arrest  must  be  public,  and 
he  must  be  sent  to  Glatz,  guarded  by 
fifty  hussars.  Go  now  and  attend  to 
this  business. — He  is  lost,"  said  the 
king,  solemnly,  when  he  was  once  more 
alone.  "Trenck  is  condemned,  and 
Amelia  must  struggle  with  her  grief. 
Poor  Amelia ! " 

The  generals  were  waiting  outside, 
among  them  the  favorite  of  the  king. 
General  Rothenberg.  They  had  been 
summoned  to  a  council  by  the  king, 
and  were  awaiting  his  orders  to  enter 
the  tent. 

But  the  king  did  not  call  them,  per- 
haps he  had  forgotten  them.  He  walked 
slowly  up  and  down  in  his  tent,  ap- 
parently lost  in  thought.  Suddenly 
he  stood  motionless  and  listened.  He 
heard  the  tramp  of  many  horses,  and  he 
knew  what  it  meant.  He  approached 
the  opening  of  the  tent,  and  drew  back 
the  curtain  sufficiently  to  see  without 
being  seen. 

The  noise  of  the  horses'  hoofs  came 


nearer  and  nearer.  The  first  hussara 
have  passed  the  king's  tent,  and  two 
more,  and  again  two,  and  again,  and 
again ;  and  there  in  their  midst,  a 
pale  young  man,  with  a  distracted 
countenance,  with  staring  eyes,  and 
colorless  lips,  which  appear  never  to 
have  known  how  to  laugh,  a  young 
officer,  without  sword  or  epaulettes.  la 
this  Trenck,  the  beautiful,  the  young, 
the  light-hearted  Trenck,  the  beloved 
of  a  princess,  the  darling  of  all  the  la- 
dies, the  envied  favorite  of  the  king? 
He  has  passed  the  tent  of  the  king; 
behind  him  are  his  servants  with  his 
horses  and  his  baggage;  and  then 
again  hussars,  who  close  the  procession, 
the  burial  procession  of  Trenck's  hap- 
piness and  freedom. 

The  king  seemed  deeply  moved  as  he 
stepped  back  from  the  curtain.  "  Now," 
he  said  solemnly,  "I  have  committed 
my  first  act  of  injustice ;  for  I  have 
judged  this  man  in  my  own  conscience, 
without  bringing  him  before  a  coui't- 
martial.  Should  the  world  condemn 
me  for  this,  I  can  at  least  say  that  it 
is  my  only  fault  of  the  kind." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   KETURN   TO   BERLm. 

Peace  was  proclaimed.  Tliis  poor 
land,  bleeding  from  a  thousand  wounds, 
might  now  rest,  in  order  to  gather 
strength  for  new  victories.  The  hus- 
band of  Maria  Theresa  had  been 
crowned  as  emperor,  and  the  condi- 
tions of  peace  had  been  signed  at 
Dresden,  by  both  Austriana  and  Prus- 
sians. The  king  and  his  army  returned 
victorious  to  their  native  land.  Berlin 
had  assumed  her  most  joyous  appear 
ance,  to  welcome  her  king;  even  Na- 
ture had  done  her  utmost  to  enliven 
the  scene.     The  freshly  fallen   snow 


170 


BERLIN   AND    SANSSOUCI;    OR, 


which  covered  the  streets  and  roofs  of 
the  houses,  glittered  in  the  December 
sunshine  as  if  strewn  with  diamonds. 
Biit  none  felt  to-day  that  the  air  was 
cold  or  the  wind  piercing ;  happiness 
created  summer  in  theii*  hearts,  and 
they  felt  not  that  it  was  winter.  On 
every  side  the  windows  were  open,  and 
beautiful  women  w^ere  awaiting  the 
appearance  of  their  adored  sovereign 
with  as  much  curiosity  and  impatience 
as  the  common  people  in  the  streets, 
who  were  longing  to  greet  their  hero- 
king. 

At  length  the  happy  hour  came.  At 
length  the  roar  of  cannon,  the  ringing 
of  bells,  the  shouts  of  the  crowd,  which 
filled  every  avenue  leading  to  the  pal- 
ace, announced  that  the  king  had  re- 
turned to  his  capital,  which,  in  the  last 
few  days,  he  had  saved  by  a  happy 
manoeuvre  from  being  attacked  by  the 
Austrians  and  Saxons.  The  people 
greeted  their  king  Avith  shouts  ;  the  la- 
dies in  the  windows  waved  theu"  hand- 
kerchiefs, and  threw  fragrant  flowers 
into  the  open  carriage  in  which  Fred- 
erick and  his  brothers  sat. 

As  they  passed  before  the  gymna- 
sium, the  scholars  commenced  a  solemn 
song,  which  was  at  the  same  time  a 
hymn,  and  a  prayer  for  their  king, 
their  hero,  and  their  father.  "  Vivat, 
vivat  Fredericus!  Bex  vivat,  Augustus, 
Magnm,  Felix  Pater  PatHre  !  "  sang  the 
scholars.  But  suddenly  rising  above 
the  voices  of  the  singers,  and  the  shouts 
of  the  people,  a  voice  was  heard,  cry- 
ing aloud,  ^'' Vivat Fredericic the  Great!'''' 

The  people  who  had  listened  silently 
to  the  Latin  because  they  did  not  un- 
derstand it,  joined  as  with  one  impulse 
in  this  cry,  the  shout  arose  as  from  one 
throat,  "  Vivat  Frederick  the  Great ! " 
And  this  cry  spread  like  wildfire 
through  all  the  streets,  over  all  the  pub- 
lic squares;  it  resounded  from  every 
window,  and  even  from  the  tops  of  the 
houses.    Today  Berhn  had  rebaptized 


her  king.  She  gave  him  now  a  new 
name,  the  name  which  he  will  bear 
through  all  ages,  the  name  of  Frederick 
the  Great. 

The  king  flushed  deeply  as  he  heard 
this  cry.  His  heart,  which  had  been 
sad  and  gloomy,  seemed  warmed  as  by 
a  ray  of  sunlight.  Ambition  throbbed 
within  his  breast,  and  awakened  him 
from  his  melancholy  thoughts.  No, 
Frederick  had  now  no  time  to  think  of 
the  dead ;  no  time  to  mourn  secretly 
over  the  loved,  the  faithful  friends 
whom  he  would  no  longer  find  in  Ber- 
lin. The  king  must  overcome  the 
feelings  of  the  friend.  His  people  are 
here  to  greet  him,  to  welcome  his  re- 
turn, to  bestow  upon  him  an  immortal 
name.  The  king  has  no  right  to 
withdraw  himself  from  their  love ;  he 
must  meet  it  with  his  whole  soul,  his 
whole  heart. 

Convincing  himself  that  this  was  ne- 
cessary, Frederick  lifted  his  head,  a 
bright  color  mounted  to  his  cheeks, 
and  his  eyes  flashed  as  he  bowed  gra- 
ciously to  his  people.  Now  he  is  truly 
Frederick  the  Great,  for  he  has  con- 
quered his  own  heart,  and  he  has 
poured  upon  the  open  wound  of  his 
private  sorrows  the  balm  of  his  people's 
love. 

Now  the  carriage  of  the  king  has 
reached  the  palace  gate.  Frederick 
raises  his  hat  once  more,  and  bows 
smilingly  to  the  people,  whose  cries  of 
"Vivat  Frederick  the  Great"  still  fill 
the  air.  When  for  a  moment  there  is 
silence,  a  single,  clear,  commanding 
voice  is  heard,  "Long  live  Frederick 
the  Great  1 " 

The  king  turns  hastily ;  he  has  rec- 
ognized the  voice  of  his  mother.  She 
is  standing  on  the  threshold  of  the  pal- 
ace, surrounded  by  the  princesses  of 
the  royal  family.  Her  eyes  are  more 
brilliant  than  the  diamonds  which 
glitter  in  her  hair,  and  more  precious 
than  the  costly  pearls  upon  her  bosom 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


171 


are  the  drops  whicli  fall  from  her  eyes, 
tears  of  pride  and  happiness,  shed  in 
this  moment  of  triumph.  Again  she 
repeats  the  cry  taught  her  by  the  peo- 
ple, "  Long  live  Frederick  the  Great !  " 

The  king  knew  the  first  tone  of  that 
dear  voice,  and,  springing  from  the 
carriage,  hurried  forward  and  threw 
himself  into  his  mother's  extended 
arms,  and  laid  his  head  upon  her 
breast,  as  he  had  done  when  a  child, 
and  wept  hot  tears,  which  no  one  saw, 
which  his  mother  alone  felt  upon  her 
bosom. 

Near  them  stood  Elizabeth  Christine, 
the  consort  of  the  king,  and  in  the 
depths  of  her  heart  she  repeated  the 
cry  of  the  people,  and  she  gazed  pray- 
erfully toward  heaven,  as  she  petitioned 
for  the  long  and  happy  life  of  her 
adored  husband.  But  Frederick  did 
not  see  her ;  he  gave  liis  arm  to  his 
mother,  and  they  entered  the  palace, 
followed  by  his  wife  and  his  sisters  and 
brothers. 

"  Frederick  the  Great !  "  This  cry 
still  resounds  through  the  streets,  and 
the  windows  of  the  palace  tremble  with 
the  ringing  of  this  proud  name.  The 
sound  enters  the  saloons  before  him  ;  it 
opens  wide  the  doors  of  the  White  Sa- 
loon, and  when  the  king  enters,  the 
pictures  and  statues  of  the  Hohenzol- 
lerns  appear  to  become  animate,  the 
dead  eyes  flash,  the  stiffened  lips  smile, 
and  the  motionless  heads  seem  to  bow, 
for  Frederick's  new  name  has  called 
his  ancestors  from  their  graves — this 
name,  which  only  one  other  Hohenzol- 
lern  had  borne  before  him — this  name, 
which  is  as  rare  a  blossom  on  the  gen- 
ealogical trees  of  the  proudest  royal 
I&milies  as  the  blossom  of  the  aloe. 
The  king  greets  his  ancestors  with  a 
happy  smile,  for  he  feels  that  he  is  no 
unworthy  successor.  He  has  forgotten 
his  grief  and  his  pain ;  he  has  overcome 
them.  In  this  hour  he  is  only  the  king 
ind  hero. 


But  as  the  shadows  of  mght  approach, 
and  Berlin  is  Irilliant  with  illumina- 
tions, Frederick  lays  aside  his  majesty, 
and  becomes  once  more  the  loving  man, 
the  friend.  He  is  sitting  by  the  death- 
bed of  his  friend  and  preceptor,  Duhan. 
The  joyous  shouts  of  the  people  are 
still  beard  without,  but  the  king  heeds 
them  not ;  he  hears  only  the  heavy 
breathing  of  his  friend,  and  speaks  to 
him  gentle  words  of  love  and  consola- 
tion. 

At  length  he  leaves  his  friend,  and 
now  a  new  Ught  springs  into  his  eyes. 
He  is  no  longer  a  king,  no  longer  a 
mourning  friend,  he  is  only  a  young 
man.  He  is  going  to  spend  an  hour 
with  his  fidend  General  Rothenberg, 
and  forget  his  royalty  for  a  while. 

Rothenberg  seems  to  have  forgotten 
it  also,  for  he  does  not  come  to  welcome 
his  kingly  guest.  He  does  not  receive 
him  on  the  threshold.  No  one  re- 
ceives him,  but  the  hall  and  stairway 
are  brilliantly  lighted;  and,  as  he  as- 
cends, a  door  opens,  and  a  woman  ap- 
pears, beautiful  as  an  angel,  with  eyes 
beaming  like  stars,  with  lips  glowing 
as  crimson  roses.  Is  it  an  angel  or  a 
woman  ?  Her  voice  is  as  the  music  of 
the  spheres  to  the  king,  when  she 
whispers  her  welcome  to  him,  and  he, 
at  least,  thinks  he  beholds  an  angel 
when  he  sees  Barbarina. 


CHAPTER    X 


job's  post. 


Beklin  snouted,  huzzaed,  sang, 
danced,  declaimed,  illuminated  for 
three  entire  days  in  honor  of  the  con- 
quered peace,  and  the  return  of  hex 
great  king.  Every  one  but  the  young 
Princess  Amelia  seemed  contented, 
happy,  joyous.  She  took  no  part  in 
the  glad  triumph  of  her  family,  and 


172 


BERLIN  AJsD  SANS-SOUCI,    JE, 


the  loud  hosannas  of  the  people  found 
no  echo  in  her  breast.  With  heavy 
heart  and  misty  eyes  she  walked  slowly 
backward  and  forward  in  her  boudoir. 
For  three  days  she  had  borne  this  ttr- 
rible  torture,  this  anguish  of  uncer- 
tainty. Her  soul  was  moved  with 
fearful  anticipation,  but  she  was  forced 
to  appear  gay. 

For  three  days,  with  trembling 
heart  and  lips,  she  had  been  compelled 
to  appear  at  the  theatre,  the  masquer- 
ades, the  balls,  and  ceremonious  dinners 
of  the  court.  She  felt  that  the  stern 
eye  of  the  king  was  ever  searchingly 
and  angrily  fixed  upon  her.  Several 
times  completely  overcome  and  ex- 
hausted by  her  eiforts  to  seem  gay 
and  careless,  she  sought  to  withdraw 
unobserved  to  her  room,  but  her  ever- 
watchful  brother  intercepted  her,  and 
led  her  back  to  her  place  by  her  royal 
mother.  He  chatted  and  jested  merri- 
ly, but  his  expression  was  dark  and 
threatening.  Once  she  had  not  the 
power  to  respond  with  smiles.  She 
fixed  her  pleading,  tearful  eyes  upon 
the  king.  He  bowed  down  to  her,  and 
said  harshly :  "  I  command  you  to  ap- 
pear gay.  A  princess  has  not  the 
right  to  weep  when  her  peoj)le  are 
happy." 

To-day  the  court  festivities  closed. 
At  last  Amelia  dared  hope  for  some 
hours  of  solitude  and  undisturbed 
thought.  To-day  she  could  weep  and 
allow  her  pale  lips  to  express  the  wild 
grief  of  her  heart.  In  her  loneliness 
she  dared  give  utterance  to  the  cry  of 
anguish  rending  her  bosom. 

Where  was  he  ?  where  was  Tj-enck  ? 
Why  had  he  not  returned?  Why  had 
she  no  news,  no  love-token,  no  message 
from  him  ?  She  had  carefully  exam- 
ined the  list  of  killed  and  wounded. 
He  had  not  fallen  in  battle.  He  was 
not  fatally  wounded.  He  had  not  re- 
turned with  the  army,  or  she  would 
have  seen  him.    Where  was  he,  then? 


Was  he  ill,  or  had  he  forgotten  her,  or 
did  he  blush  to  return  without  hia 
laurels?  Had  he  been  taken  by  the 
Austrians  ?  Was  her  beloved  suffering 
in  a  loathsome  prison,  while  she  was 
laughing,  jesting,  and  adorning  herself 
in  costly  array?  While  she  thus 
thought  and  spoke,  burning  tears 
blinded  her  eyes,  and  sighs  and  sobs 
choked  her  utterance. 

"If  he  is  dead,"  said  she,  firmly, 
"  then  I  will  also  die.  If  he  is  in  prison, 
I  will  set  him  at  liberty.  If  he  does 
not  come  because  he  has  not  been  pro- 
moted and  fears  I  no  longer  love  him, 
I  will  seek  him  out,  I  will  swear  that  I 
love  him,  that  I  desire  only  his  love, 
that  I  will  fly  with  him  to  some  lonely, 
quiet  valley.  I  will  lay  aside  my  rank, 
my  royalty,  forget  my  birth,  abandon 
all  joyously,  that  I  may  belong  to  him, 
be  his  fond  and  dear-loved  wife." 

And  now  a  light  sound  was  heard  at 
the  door,  and  she  recognized  the  voice 
of  her  maid  asking  admittance. 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Amelia,  "  if  the  good 
Marwitz  were  here,  I  should  not  have 
to  endure  this  torture,  but  my  brother 
has  unconsciously  robbed  me  of  this 
consolation.  He  has  sent  my  friend 
and  confidante  home,  and  forced  upon 
me  a  strange  and  stupid  woman  whom 
I  hate." 

And  now  a  gentle  voice  pleaded  more 
earnestly  for  admittance. 

"  I  must  indeed  open  the  door,"  said 
the  princess,  unwillingly  drawing  back 
the  bolt.  "  Enter,  Mademoiselle  von 
Haak,"  said  Amelia,  turning  her  back 
in  order  to  conceal  her  red  and  swollen 
eyes. 

Mademoiselle  von  Haak  gave  a  soft, 
sad  glance  at  the  young  princess,  and 
in  a  low  voice  asked  for  pardon  for 
her  unwelcome  apjjearance. 

"  Without  doubt  your  reason  foi 
coming  will  justify  you,"  said  the  i^rin- 
cess.  "  I  pray  you,  therefore,  to  make 
it  known  quickly     I  wish  to  be  alcue." 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


173 


"  Alas  !  your  royal  highness  is  harsh 
irith  me,"  whispered  the  young  girl. 
'*I  was  forced  upon  you.  I  know  it; 
you  hate  me  because  I  have  taken  the 
place  of  Mademoiselle  von  Marwitz.  I 
assure  you  I  was  not  to  blame  in  this. 
It  was  only  after  the  written  and  per- 
emptory command  of  his  majesty  the 
king  that  my  mother  consented  to  my 
appearance  at  court." 

"  Have  you  come,  mademoiselle,  sim- 
ply to  tell  me  this  ?  " 

"  No,  your  royal  highness ;  I  come  to 
say  that  I  love  you.  Ever  since  I  had 
the  honor  of  knowing  you,  I  have 
loved  you.  In  the  loneliness  which 
surrounds  me  here,  my  heart  gives  it- 
self up  wholly  to  you.  Oh,  do  not 
spurn  me  from  you  !  Tell  me  why  you 
are  sad ;  let  me  bear  a  part  of  your 
sorrow.  Princess,  I  oflFer  you  the  heart 
of  a  true  friend,  of  a  sister — will  you 
cast  me  off?" 

The  young  girl  threw  herself  upon 
her  knees  before  the  princess,  and  her 
cheeks  were  bathed  in  tears.  Amelia 
raised  and  embraced  her. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  she,  "  I  see  that  God 
has  not  utterly  forsaken  me.  He  sends 
me  aid  and  comfort  in  my  necessity. 
Will  you  be,  indeed,  my  fidend  ?  " 

"Yes,  a  friend  in  whom  you  can 
trust  fully,  to  whom  you  can  speak 
freely,"  said  Mademoiselle  von  Haak, 

"  "Who  knows  but  that  may  be  more 
dangerous  for  you  than  for  me  ? " 
sighed  Amelia,  ''There  are  fearful 
secrets,  the  mere  knowledge  of  which 
brings  destruction." 

"  But  if  I  already  know  the  secret  of 
your  royal  highness  ? — if  I  understand 
the  reason  of  your  grief  during  these 
last  few  days  ? " 

"Well,  then,  tell  me  what  you 
know." 

The  maiden  bowed  down  low  to  the 
ear  of  her  mistress.  "  Your  eyes  seek 
in  vain  for  him  whom  you  love.  You 
Buffer,  for  you  know  not  where  he  is." 


"  Yes,  you  are  right,"  cried  Amelia. 
"  I  suffer  the  anguish  of  uncertainty.  If 
I  do  not  soon  learn  where  he  is,  I  shall 
die  in  despair." 

"  Shall  I  tell  you,  princess  ?  " 

Amelia  turned  pale  and  trembled. 
"You  will  not  say  that  he  is  in  hia 
grave  ?  "  said  she,  breathlessly. 

"  No,  your  highness,  he  lives  and  is 
well." 

"  He  lives,  is  well,  and  comes  not  ?  " 

"  He  cannot  come — ^lie  is  a  prisoner." 

"A  prisoner!  God  be  thanked  it  is 
no  worse  I  The  king  will  obtain  his 
liberation.  My  brother  cares  for  his 
young  officers — he  will  not  leave  him 
in  the  hands  of  the  Austrians.  Oh  1  I 
thank  you — ^I  thank  you.  You  are  in- 
deed a  messenger  of  glad  tidings.  And 
now  the  king  will  be  pleased  with  me. 
I  can  be  merry,  and  laugh,  and  jest 
with  him," 

Mademoiselle  von  Haak  bowed  her 
head  sadly,  and  sighed.  "  He  is  not  in 
an  Austrian  prison,"  she  said,  in  low 
tones. 

"Not  in  an  Austrian  prison?"  re- 
peated Amelia,  astonished,  "  where  ia  . 
he,  then  ?  My  God !  why  do  you  not 
speak  ?  Where  is  Trenck  ?  Who  has 
captured  him  ?  Speak  !  I  die  with 
impatience  and  anxiety." 

"  In  God's  name,  princess,  listen  to 
me  calmly,  and  above  all  things  speak 
softly.  I  am  sure  you  are  surrounded 
by  spies.  If  we  are  heard,  we  are 
lost !  " 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  die  ? "  mur- 
mured the  princess,  sinking  exhausted 
upon  the  divan.     "  Where  is  Trenck? " 

"  He  is  in  the  fortress  of  Glatz," 
whispered  Von  Haak, 

"Ah  !  in  a  Prussian  fortress ;  sent 
there  by  the  king  ?  He  has  committed 
some  small  fault  in  discipline,  as  once 
before,  and  as  this  is  the  second  of- 
fence, the  king  punishes  him  more 
severely.  That  is  all !  I  thank  you ; 
you  have  restored  my  peace  of  opnd." 


174 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


"  I  fear,  princess,  that  you  are  mis- 
taken. It  is  said  that  Baron  von 
Trenck  has  been  arrested  for  high- 
treason." 

The  princess  became  deadly  pale, 
and  almost  fainted.  She  overcame 
this  weakness,  however,  quickly,  and 
said  smilingly :  "  He  will  then  soon  be 
free,  for  all  must  know  that  he  is  inno- 
cent." 

"  God  grant  it  may  be  proved  ! "  said 
Mademoiselle  von  Haak.  "This  is  no 
time  to  shrink  or  be  silent.  You  have 
a  great,  strong  heart,  and  you  love  him. 
You  must  know  all !  Listen,  therefore, 
princess.  I  also  love ;  I  also  look  to  the 
future  with  hope  !  My  love  is  calm,  for 
it  is  without  danger ;  it  has  my  moth- 
er's consent  and  blessing.  Our  only 
hope  is,  that  my  lover  may  be  promo- 
ted, and  that  the  king  will  give  his 
consent  to  our  marriage.  We  are  both 
poor,  and  rely  only  upon  the  favor  of 
the  king.  He  is  now  lieutenant,  and  is 
on  duty  in  the  garrison  of  Glatz." 

"  In  Glatz  !  and  you  say  that  Trenck 
is  a  prisoner  in  Glatz  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  received  letters  yesterday 
from  Schnell.  He  belongs  to  the  offi- 
cers who  have  guard  over  Trenck.  He 
writes  that  he  feels  the  profoundest 
pity  for  this  young  man,  and  that  he 
will  joyfully  aid  him  in  every  way. 
He  asks  me  if  I  know  no  one  who  has 
the  courage  to  plead  with  the  king  in 
behalf  of  this  unhappy  youth." 

"  My  God !  my  God !  give  me 
strength  to  hear  all,  and  yet  cfintrol 
myself!"  murmured  Amelia.  "Do 
you  know  the  nature  of  his  punish- 
ment ? "  said  she,  quietly. 

"  No  one  knows  positively  the  dura- 
tion of  his  punishment ;  but  the  com- 
mandant of  the  fort  told  the  officers 
that  Trenck  would  be  a  prisoner 
for  many  years." 

The  princess  uttered  one  wild  cry, 
then  pressed  both  hands  upon  her  lips 
and  forced  herself  to  silence. 


"  What  is  the  charge  against  him  ? " 
she  said,  after  a  long  pause. 

High  -  treason.  A  treasonable  cor- 
respondence has  been  discovered  be- 
tween him  and  his  cousin  the  pan- 
dour." 

The  princess  shrugged  her  shoulders 
contemptuously.  "  He  will  soon  justi- 
fy himself,  in  view  of  this  pitiful 
charge !  His  judges  will  acknowledge 
his  innocence,  and  set  him  at  liberty. 
But  why  is  he  not  already  free  ?  Why 
has  he  been  condemned  ?  Who  were  his 
judges  ?  Did  you  not  say  to  me  that  he 
was  condemned  ? " 

"  My  lover  wrote  me  that  Baron 
Trenck  had  written  to  the  king  and 
asked  for  a  court-martial  and  trial." 

"  This  proves  his  innocence ;  he  does 
not  fear  a  trial !  What  was  the  king's 
answer  ? " 

"  He  ordered  the  commandant  to  place 
Trenck  in  closer  confinement,  and  to 
forward  no  more  letters  from  him 
And  now,  princess,  you  must  act 
promptly ;  use  all  your  power  and  in- 
fluence, if  you  would  save  him !  " 

"  I  have  no  influence,  I  have  no 
power !  "  cried  Amelia,  with  streaming 
eyes.  "  Oh !  you  do  not  know  my 
brother ;  his  heart  is  of  stone.  No  one 
can  move  him — neither  his  mother,  his 
sisters,  nor  his  wife ;  his  purpose  is  un- 
changeable, and  what  he  says  is  fixed. 
But  I  will  show  him  that  I  am  liis  sis- 
ter ;  that  the  hot  blood  of  the  Hohen- 
zollerns  flows  also  in  my  veins.  I  will 
seek  him  boldly ;  I  will  avow  that  I 
love  Trenck;  I  will  demand  that  he 
give  Trenck  liberty,  or  give  me  death  ! 
I  will  demand — " 

The  door  was  hastily  opened,  and  a 
servant  said,  breathlessly,  "  The  king 
is  coming ! " 

"  No,  he  is  already  here,"  said  the 
king,  who  now  stood  upon  the  thresh- 
old of  the  door.  "  He  comes  to  beg 
his  little  sister  to  accompany  him  to  the 
court-yard  and  see  the  reind'^er  and  the 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


175 


Laplanders,  sent  to   us  by  the   crown 
princess  of  Sweden." 

The  king  advanced  to  his  sister,  and 
held  out  both  his  hands.  But  Amelia 
did  not  appear  to  see  this.  She  made  a 
profound  and  ceremonious  bow,  and 
murmured  a  few  cold  words  of  greet- 
ing. The  king  frowned,  and  looked 
at  her  angrily.  He  saw  that  she  had 
been  weeping,  and  his  expression  was 
harsh  and  stern. 

"  Come,  princess  ! "  said  he,  imperi- 
ously. 

But  Amelia  had  now  overcome  her 
terror  and  her  confusion.  She  was 
resolved  to  act,  and  know  the  worst. 

"  Will  your  majesty  grant  me  an  au- 
dience ?  I  have  something  important, 
most  important  to  myself,  to  say.  I 
would  speak  more  to  the  heart  of  my 
brother  than  to  the  ear  of  my  king.  I 
pray  your  majesty  to  allow  me  to  speak 
with  you  alone." 

The  king's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her 
with  a  dark  and  threatening  expres- 
sion, but  she  did  not  look  down  or 
tremble;  she  met  his  glance  firmly, 
even  daringly,  and  Frederick  hesitated. 
"  She  will  speak  the  whole  truth  to 
me,"  thought  the  king,  "  and  I  shall  be 
forced  to  act  with  severity  against  her. 
I  cannot  do  this;  I  am  not  brave 
enough  to  battle  with  a  maiden's  heart." 

"  Sister,"  said  he  aloud,  "if  you 
have  iudeed  something  to  say  to  your 
brother,  and  not  to  the  king,  I  counsel 
you  not  to  speak  now.  I  have  so 
much  to  do  and  hear  as  a  king,  I  have 
no  time  to  act  another  part.  Is  what 
you  have  to  say  to  me  truly  important  ? 
Does  it  relate  to  a  rare  jewel,  or  a  cost- 
ly robe  ? — to  some  debt,  which  your 
pin-money  does  not  suffice  to  meet  ? — in 
short,  to  any  one  of  those  great  matters 
which  completely  fill  the  heart  of  a 
young  maiden  ?  If  so,  I  advise  you  to 
confide  in  our  mother.  If  she  makes 
your  wishes  known  to  me,  you  are  sure 
to  receive  no  denial    It  is  decidedly 


better  for  a  young  girl  to  tm"n  to  her 
mother  with  her  little  wishes  and  mys- 
teries. If  they  are  innocent,  her 
mother  will  ever  promote  them;  if 
they  are  guilty,  a  mother's  anger  will 
be  more  restrained  and  milder  than  a 
brother's  ever  can  be." 

"  You  will  not  even  listen  to  me, 
my  brother  ? "  said  the  princess,  sob- 
bing violently. 

The  king  threw  a  quick  glance  back- 
ward toward  the  door  opening  into  the 
corridor,  where  the  cavaliers  and  maids 
of  honor  were  assembled,  and  looking 
curiously  into  the  room  of  the  princess. 

"No!  I  will  not  listen  to  you,"  said 
he,  in  a  low  tone  ;  "  but  you  shall  listen 
to  me !  You  shall  not  act  a  drama  at 
my  court ;  you  shall  not  give  the  world 
a  cause  for  scandal ;  you  shall  not  ex- 
hibit yourself  with  red  and  swollen  eyes; 
that  might  be  misipterpreted.  It  might 
be  said  that  the  sister  of  the  king  did 
not  rejoice  at  the  return  of  her  brother; 
that  she  was  not  patriot  enough  to  feel 
happy  at  Prussia's  release  from  the  bur- 
dens of  war,  not  patriot  enough  to  de- 
spise and  forget  the  enemies  of  her 
country !  I  command  you  to  be  gay, 
to  conceal  your  childish  grief,  A  prin- 
cess dare  not  weep,  or,  if  she  does,  it 
must  be  under  the  sliadow  of  night, 
when  God  only  is  with  her.  This  is 
my  counsel  and  reproof,  and  I  beg  you 
to  lay  it  to  your  heart.  I  will  not  com- 
mand you  to  accompany  me,  your  eyes 
are  red  with  weeping.  Remain,  then, 
in  your  room,  and  that  the  time  may 
not  pass  heavily,  I  hand  you  this  letter, 
which  I  have  received  for  you." 

He  drew  a  sealed  letter  from  his 
bosom,  handed  it  to  Amelia,  and  left 
the  room. 

"  Let  us  go,"  said  he,  nodding  to  his 
courtiers ;  "  the  princess  is  unwell,  and 
cannot  accompany  us." 

Mademoiselle  von  Haak  hastened 
again  to  the  boudcnr.  "  Has  yoni 
royal  highness  spoken  to  the  king  ? '' 


176 


BEKLIN   AND    SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


She  shook  her  head  silently,  and  with 
trembling  hands  tore  open  the  letter 
given  her  by  the  king.  Breathlessly 
she  fixed  her  eyes  upon  the  writing,  ut- 
tered one  wild  shriek,  and  fell  insensi- 
ble upon  the  floor.  This  was  the  last 
letter  she  had  written  to  Trenck,  and 
upon  the  margin  the  king  had  writ- 
ten this  one  word,  "  Read."  The  king 
then  knew  all ;  he  had  read  the  letter  ; 
he  knew  of  her  engagement  to  Trenck, 
knew  how  she  loved  him,  and  he  had 
no  mercy.  For  this  was  he  condemned. 
He  had  given  her  this  letter  to  prove 
to  her  that  she  had  nothing  to  hope ; 
that  Trenck  was  punished,  not  for  high- 
treason  against  the  state,  but  because 
he  was  the  lover  of  the  princess. 

Amelia  understood  all.  With  flash- 
ing eyes,  with  glowing  cheeks,  she  ex- 
claimed: "I  will  set  him  at  liberty  ;  he 
suflFers  because  he  loves  me ;  for  my  sake 
he  languishes  in  a  lonely  prison.  I  will 
free  him  if  it  cost  me  my  heart's  blood, 
drop  by  drop  !  Now,  King  Frederick, 
you  shall  sec  that  I  am  indeed  your  sis- 
ter ;  that  I  have  a  will  even  like  your 
own.  My  life  belongs  to  my  beloved ;  if 
I  cannot  share  it  with  him,  I  will  offer 
it  up  to  him — I  swear  this ;  may  God 
condemn  me  if  I  break  my  oath ! 
Trenck  shall  be  free !  that  is  the  mis- 
sion of  my  life.  Now,  friend,  come  to 
my  help ;  all  that  I  am  and  have  I  offer 
up.  I  have  gold,  I  have  diamonds,  I 
have  an  estate  given  me  by  my  father. 
I  will  sell  all  to  liberate  him  ;  we  will, 
if  necessary,  bribe  the  whole  garrison. 
But  now,  before  all  other  things,  I 
must  write  to  him." 

"  I  promise  he  shall  receive  your  let- 
ter," said  Mademoiselle  von  Haak  ;  "  I 
will  send  it  to  Lieutenant  Schnell.  I 
will  enclose  it  to  my  mother ;  no  one 
here  must  know  that  I  correspond  with 
an  officer  at  the  fortress  of  Glatz." 

"  No  one  dare  know  that,  till  the  day 
of  Trenck's  liberation,"  said  Amelia, 
with  a  radiant  smile. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE     tTNDECEIVED. 

SmcE  the  day  Joseph  Fredersdorf  in- 
troduced Lupinus  to  Eckhof,  an  afiec- 
tionate  intercourse  had  grown  up  be- 
tween them.  They  were  very  happy  in 
each  other,  and  Fredersdorf  asserted  that 
there  was  more  of  love  than  friendship 
in  their  hearts,  that  Lupinus  was  not 
the  friend  but  the  bride  of  Eckhof !  In 
fact,  Lupinus  had  but  little  of  the  un- 
embarrassed, frank,  free  manner  of  a 
young  man.  He  was  modest  and  re- 
served, never  sought  Eckhof;  but  when 
the  latter  came  to  him,  his  pale  face 
colored  with  a  soft  red.  and  his  great 
eyes  flashed  with  a  wondrous  glow. 
Eckhof  could  not  but  see  how  much 
his  silent  young  friend  rejoiced  in  his 
presence. 

He  came  daily  to  liUpinus.  It 
strengthened  and  consoled  him  in  the 
midst  of  his  nervous,  restless  artist-life, 
to  look  upon  the  calm,  peaceful  face  of 
his  friend  ;  this  alone,  without  a  word 
spoken,  soothed  his  heart — agitated  by 
storms  and  passions,  and  made  him 
mild  and  peaceable.  The  quiet  room, 
the  books  and  papers,  the  weighty 
folios,  the  shining,  polished  medical 
instruments,  these  stern  realities  formed 
a  strange  and  strong  contrast  to  the 
dazzling,  shimmering,  frivolous,  false 
life  of  the  stage  ;  and  all  this  exercised 
a  wondrous  influence  upon  the  artiste. 
Eckhof  came  often,  weighed  down  with 
care  and  exhaustion,  or  in  feverish  ex- 
citement over  some  new  role  he  was 
studying,  not  to  speak  of  his  anxieti'is 
and  perplexities,  but  to  sit  silently 
near  Lupinus  and  look  calmly  upon 
him. 

"Be  silent,  my  Lupinus,"  said  Eck- 
hof to  him.  "  Let  me  lay  my  storm- 
tossed,  wild  heart  in  the  moonlight  of 
thy  glance ;   it  will  be   warmed  and 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


17: 


cooled  at  the  same  time.  Let  thy  mild 
countenance  beam  upon  me,  soften  and 
heal  my  aching  heart.  Look  you, 
when  I  lay  my  head  thus  upon  your 
shoulder,  it  seems  to  me  I  have  escaped 
all  trouble ;  that  only  far  away  in 
the  distance  do  I  hear  the  noise  and 
tumult  of  the  restless,  busy  world  ;  and 
I  hear  the  voice  of  my  mother,  even  as 
I  heard  it  in  my  childish  days,  whisper- 
ing of  God,  of  Paradise,  and  the  angels. 
Still,  still,  friend,  let  me  dream  thus 
upon  your  shoulder." 

He  closed  his  eyes  in  silence,  and  did 
not  see  the  fond  and  tender  expression 
with  which  Lupinus  looked  down  upon 
him.  He  did  not  feel  how  violently 
the  young  heart  beat,  how  quick  the 
hot  breath  came. 

At  other  times  it  was  a  consolation 
to  Eckhof  to  relate,  in  passionate  and 
eloquent  words,  all  his  sorrows  and  dis- 
appointments;  all  his  strifes  and  con- 
tests ;  all  his  scorn  over  the  intrigues 
and  cabals  which  then,  as  now,  were 
the  necessary  attendants  of  a  stage-life. 
Lupinus  listened  till  this  wild  cataract 
of  rage  had  ceased  to  foam,  and  he 
might  hope  that  his  soft  and  loving 
words  of  consolation  could  find  an  en- 
trance into  EckhoPs  heart. 

Months  went  by,  and  Lupinus,  faith- 
ful to  the  promise  given  to  Eckhof,  was 
stiU  the  thoughtful,  diligent  student ; 
he  sat  ever  in  quiet  meditation  upon 
the  bench  of  the  auditory,  and  listened 
to  the  learned  dissertations  of  the  pro- 
fessors, and  studied  the  secrets  of  sci- 
ence in  his  lonely  room. 

But  this  time  of  trial  was  soon  to  be 
at  an  end.  Eckhof  agreed,  that  after 
Lupinus  had  passed  his  examination, 
he  should  decide  for  himself  if  he  would 
abandon  the  glittering  career  of  science 
for  the  rough  and  thorny  path  of  artist- 
life.  In  the  next  few  days  this  impor- 
tant event  was  to  take  place,  and  Lu- 
pinus would  publicly  and  solemnly  re- 
ceive his  diploma. 
12 


Lupinus  thought  but  little  of  this. 
He  knew  that  the  events  of  that  day 
must  exercise  an  important  influence 
upon  his  future,  upon  the  happiness  or 
unhappiness  of  his  whole  life. 

The  day  before  the  examination  Lu- 
pinus was  alone  in  his  room.  He  said 
to  himself*  "  If  the  Faculty  give  me  my 
diploma,  I  will  show  myself  in  my  true 
form  to  Eckhof.  I  will  step  suddenly 
before  him,  and  in  his  surprise  I  will 
see  if  his  friend  Lupinus  is  more  wel- 
come as — "' 

He  did  not  complete  the  sentence,  but 
blushing  crimson  at  his  own  thoughts, 
he  turned  away  and  took  refuge  in  his 
books;  but  the  excitement  and  agita- 
tion of  his  soul  was  stronger  than  hia 
will ;  the  letters  danced  and  glimmered 
before  his  eyes ;  his  heart  beat  joyfully 
and  stormily;  and  his  soul,  borne  aloft 
on  bold  wings,  could  no  longer  be  held 
down  to  the  dusty  and  dreary  writing- 
desk;  he  sprang  up,  threw  the  book 
aside,  and  hastened  to  the  adjoining 
room.  No  other  foot  had  ever  crossed 
the  threshold  of  this  still,  small  room ; 
it  was  always  closed  against  the  most 
faithful  of  his  friends. 

Besides,  this  little  bedroom  concealed 
a  mystery — a  mystery  which  would 
have  excited  the  merriment  of  Freders- 
dorf  and  the  wild  amazement  of  Eckhof. 
On  the  bed  lay  a  vestment  which  seem- 
ed utterly  unsuited  to  the  toilet  of  a 
young  man ;  it  was  indeed  a  woman's 
dress,  a  glistening  white  satin,  such  as 
young,  fair  brides  wear  on  their  wed- 
ding day.  There,  upon  the  table,  lay 
small  white,  satin  shoes,  perfumed,  em 
broidered  pocket-handkerchiefs,  rib 
bons,  and  flowers.  What  did  this  sig 
nify  ?  what  meant  this  feminine  boudoir 
next  to  the  study  of  a  young  man  * 
"Was  the  beloved  whom  he  wished  tc 
adorn  with  this  bridal  attire  concealeo 
there  ?  or,  was  this  only  a  costume  in 
which  he  would  play  his  first  role  as  an 
actor  ? 


178 


BERLIN   AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


Lupinus  gazed  upon  all  tbese  costly 
tilings  with  a  glad  and  happy  heart, 
and  as  he  raised  the  satin  robe  and 
danced  smilingly  to  the  great  mirror, 
nothing  of  the  grave,  earnest,  dignified 
scholar  was  to  be  seen  in  his  mien  ;  sud- 
denly he  paused,  and  stood  breathlessly 
listening.  It  seemed  to  him  some  one 
knocked  lightly  on  the  outer  door,  then 
again  louder. 

"That  is  Eckhof,"  whispered  Lu- 
pinus. He  left  the  mysterious  little 
room,  hastily  closed  the  door,  and 
placed  the  key  in  his  bosom,  then  open- 
ed the  outer  door. 

Yes,  it  was  Eckhof.  He  entered  with 
a  beaming  face,  with  a  gay  and  hapjay 
smile.  Lupinus  had  never  seen  him  so 
joyous.  He  clasped  his  young  friend 
so  ardently  in  his  arms,  that  he  could 
scarcely  breathe ;  he  pressed  so  glowing 
a  kiss  upon  his  cheek,  that  Lupinus 
trembled,  and  was  overcome  by  his  own 
emotion. 

"  See,  Lupinus,  how  much  I  love 
you  1 "  said  Eckhof.  "  I  come  first  to 
you,  that  you  may  sympathize  with  me 
in  my  great  joy.  Almost  oppressed  by 
the  sense  of  heavenly  bliss,  which  seem- 
ed in  starry  splendor  to  overshadow 
me,  I  thought,  '  I  must  go  to  Lupinus ; 
he  alone  will  understand  me.'  I  am 
here  to  say  to  you,  '  Rejoice  with  me, 
for  I  am  hapi^y.'  I  ran  like  a  madman 
through  the  streets.  Oh  I  friend,  you 
have  not  seen  my  sorrow ;  I  have 
concealed  the  anguish  of  my  soul.  I 
loved  you  boundlessly,  and  I  would  not 
fill  your  young,  pure  soul  with  sadness. 
But  you  dared  look  upon  my  rapture ; 
you,  my  most  faithful,  best-beloved 
friend,  shall  share  my  joy." 

"  Tell  me,  then,  at  once,  what  makes 
you  happy  ?  "  said  Lupinus,  with  trem- 
bling lips,  and  with  the  pallor  of  death 
from  excitement  and  apprehension. 

"  And  you  ask,  my  innocent  and 
modest  child,"  said  Eckhof,  laughing. 
"  You  do  not  yet  know  that  love  alone 


makes  a  man  wretched  or  infinitely 
happy.  I  was  despairing  because  I  did 
not  know  if  I  was  beloved,  and  this 
micertainty  made  a  madman  of  me." 

"  And  now  ?  "  said  Lupinus. 

"  And  now  I  am  supremely  happy — 
she  loves  me;  she  has  confessed  it  this 
day.  Oh  !  my  friend,  I  almost  tore  this 
sweet,  this  heavenly  secret  from  her 
heart.  I  threatened  her,  I  almost  cursed 
her.  I  lay  at  her  feet,  uttering  wild 
words  of  rebuke  and  bitter  reproach. 
I  was  mad  with  passion ;  resolved  to 
slay  myself,  if  she  did  not  then  and 
there  disclose  to  me  either  her  love  or 
her  contempt.  I  dared  all,  to  win  all. 
She  stood  pallid  and  trembling  before 
me,  and,  as  I  railed  at  her,  she  extended 
her  arms  humbly  and  pleadingly  tow- 
ard me.  Oh  1  she  was  fair  and  beau- 
tiful as  a  pardoning  angel,  with 
these  glistening  tears  in  her  wondrous, 
dreamy  eyes,  fair  and  beautiful  as  a 
houri  of  Paradise ;  when  at  last,  carried 
away  by  her  own  heart,  she  bowed 
down  and  confessed  that  she  loved  me  ; 
that  she  would  be  mine — mine,  in  spite 
of  her  distinguished  birth,  in  spite  of  all 
the  thousand  obstacles  which  inter- 
posed. One  wild  day  I  exclaimed,  '  Oh  I 
my  God,  my  God  !  T  am  set  apart  to  be 
an  artiste ;  Thou  hast  consecrated  me 
by  misfortune.'  To-day,  I  feel  that  only 
when  I  am  truly  happy  can  I  truly 
create.  From  this  day  alone  will  1 
truly  be  an  artiste.  I  have  now  received 
the  heavenly  consecratiim  of  happi- 
ness." 

Eckhof  looked  down  upon  his  young 
friend.  When  he  gazed  upon  the 
fair  and  ashy  countenance,  the  glassy 
eyes  staring  without  expression  in  the 
distance,  the  blue  lips  convulsively 
pressed  together,  he  became  suddenly 
silent. 

''  Lupinus,  you  are  ill !  you  suflFer !  " 
he  said,  opening  his  arms  and  trying  to 
clasp  his  friend  once  more  to  his  breast 
But  the  touch  of  his  hand  made  Li? 


rSEDMlICK  THE  GREAT   ANT)  HIS  FRIENDS. 


Hi 


pinus  tremble,  and  awakened  him 
from  his  trance.  One  wild  shriek  rang 
from  his  bosom,  a  stream  of  tears 
gushed  from  his  eyes,  and  he  sank  al- 
most insensible  to  the  floor. 

''  My  friend,  my  beloved  friend  ! " 
cried  Eckhof,  "  you  suffer,  and  are  si- 
lent. "What  is  it  that  overpowers  you  ? 
"What  is  this  great  grief?  Why  do  you 
weep  ?  Let  me  share  and  alleviate 
your  sorrow." 

"  Xo,  no  !  "  cried  Lupinus,  rising, 
■'  I  do  not  suffer ;  I  have  no  pain,  no 
cause  of  sorrow.  Do  not  touch  me ; 
your  lightest  touch  wounds  !  Go,  go ! 
leave  me  alone  !  " 

"  You  love  me  not,  then  ?  "  said  Eck- 
hof. "  You  suffer,  and  will  not  confide 
in  me?  you  weep  bitterly,  and  com- 
mand me  to  leave  you  ? " 

"  And  he  thinks  that  I  do  not  love 
him,"  murmured  Lupinus,  with  a 
weary  smile.  "  My  God  !  whom,  then, 
do  I  love  ?  " 

"  If  your  friendship  for  me  were  true 
and  genuine,  you  would  trust  me,"  said 
Eckhof,  "I  have  made  you  share  in 
my  happiness,  and  I  demand  the  holy 
right  of  sharing  your  grief." 

Lupinus  did  not  reply.  Eckhof 
lifted  him  gently  in  his  arms,  and  lay- 
ing him  upon  the  sofa,  took  a  seat  near 
him.  He  laid  his  arms  around  him, 
placed  his  head  upon  his  bosom,  and 
in  a  soft,  melodious  voice,  whispered 
words  of  comfort,  encouragement,  and 
love.  The  young  man  trembled  con- 
vulsively, and  wept  without  restraint. 

Suddenly  he  raised  himself;  the 
agony  was  over ;  his  lips  slightly 
trembled,  but  he  pressed  them  to- 
gether ;  his  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  but 
he  shook  his  head  proudly,  and  dashed 
them  from  him, 

"It  is  past,  allpast!  my  dream  has 
dispersed.    I  am  awake  once  more !  " 

"  And  now,  Lupinus,  you  will  tell 
me  all  ? " 

"  No,  not  now,  but  to-morrow.     To- 


moirow  you  shall  know  all.  Tliere- 
fore,  go,  my  friend,  and  Jeave  me 
alone.  Go  to  her  you  love,  gaze  in  her 
eyes,  and  see  in  them  a  starry  heaven ; 
then  think  of  me,  whose  star  is  quench- 
ed, who  is  bowed  down  under  a  heavy 
load  of  affliction.  Go  !  go !  if  you 
love  me,  go  at  once  ! " 

"  I  love  you,  therefore  I  obey  you, 
but  my  heart  is  heavy  for  you,  and  my 
own  happiness  is  clouded.  But  I  go ; 
to-morrow  you  wUl  tell  me  all  ? " 

"  To-morrow." 

"But  when,  when  do  we  meet 
again  ? " 

"  To-morrow,  at  ten,  we  will  see 
each  other.  At  that  time  I  am  to  re- 
ceive my  diploma.  I  pray  you,  bring 
Fredersdorf  with  you." 

"  So  be  it ;  to-morrow,  at  ten,  in  the 
university.     Till  then,  farewell." 

"  Farewell." 

They  clasped  hands,  looked  deep  in  - 
to  each  other's  eyes,  and  took  a  silent 
leave.  Lupinus  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  room  and  gazed  after  Eckhof  till 
he  had  reached  the  threshold,  then 
rushed  forward,  threw  himself  upon  his 
neck,  clasped  him  in  his  arms,  and 
murmured,  in  a  voice  choked  with 
tears  :  "Farewell,  farewell  I  Think  of 
me,  Eckhof!  think  that  no  woman  has 
ever  loved  you  as  I  have  loved  you ! 
God  bless  you  I  God  bless  you,  my  be- 
loved ! " 

One  last  glowing  kiss,  one  last  ear- 
nest lot>k,  and  he  pushed  him  forward 
and  closed  the  door ;  then  with  a  wild 
cry  sank  upon  the  floor. 

How  long  be  lay  there,  how  long  he 
wept,  prayed,  and  despaired,  he  knew 
not  himself.  The  hours  of  anguish 
drag  slowly  aud  drearily;  the  moments 
given  to  weeping  seem  to  stretch  out  to 
eternity.  Suddenly  he  heard  heavy 
steps  upon  the  stairs;  he  recognized 
them,  and  knew  what  they  signified. 
The  door  opened,  and  two  men  en- 
tered :  the  first  with  a  proud,  imposing 


180 


BERLIX  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


form,  -vviih  gray  hair,  and  stem,  strong- 
ly-marked features  ;  the  other,  a  young 
man,  pale  and  delicate,  with  a  mild  and 
soft  countenance. 

The  old  man  looked  at  Lupinus 
with  a  frowning  brow  and  angry 
glance ;  the  other  greeted  him  with  a 
sweet  smile,  and  his  clear  blue  eye 
rested  upon  him  with  an  expression  of 
undying  love. 

"My  father!  "  said  Lupinus,  hasten- 
ing forward  to  throw  himself  into  his 
arms ;  but  he  waved  him  back,  and  his 
look  was  darker,  sterner. 

"We  have  received  your  letter, 
therefore  are  we  hereto-day.  "We hope 
and  believe  it  was  written  in  fever  or 
in  madness.  If  we  are  mistaken  in  this, 
you  shall  repeat  to  us  what  was  writ- 
ten in  that  letter,  which  I  tore  and 
trampled  under  my  feet.  Speak,  then ! 
we  came  to  listen." 

"  Not  so,"  said  the  young  man,  "  re- 
cover yourself  first  ;  consider  your 
words;  reflect  that  they  will  decide 
the  question  of  your  own  happiness,  of 
your  father's  and  of  mine.  Be  firm  and 
sure  in  your  determination.  Let  no 
thought  of  others,  no  secondary  consid- 
eration influence  you.  Think  only  of 
your  own  happiness,  and  endeavor  to 
build  it  upon  a  sure  foundation." 

Lupinus  shook  his  head  sadly.  "  I 
have  no  happiness,  I  expect  none." 

"  What  was  written  in  that  letter?  " 
said  the  old  Lupinus  sternly. 

"Tliat  I  had  been  faithful  to  my 
oath,  and  betrayed  the  secret  I  prom- 
ised you  to  guard,  to  no  one  ;  that  to- 
morrow I  would  receive  my  diploma ; 
that  you  had  promised  when  I  had  ac- 
complished this  I  should  be  free  to 
choose  my  own  future,  and  to  confess 
my  secret." 

"Was  that  all  the  letter  contained  ?  " 

"  No — that  I  had  resolved  to  choose 
a  new  career,  resolved  to  leave  the  old 
paths,  to  break  away  from  the  past,  and 
begin  a  new  life  at  Eokhors  side." 


"My  child  at  the  side  of  a  come- 
dian ! "  cried  the  old  doctor  contempt- 
uously, "  Yes,  I  remember  that  was 
written,  but  I  believed  it  not,  and 
therefore  have  I  come.  Was  your  letter 
true  ?  Did  you  write  the  truth  to  Er- 
velman  ? " 

Lupinus  cast  his  eyes  down,  and 
gave  his  hand  to  his  father.  "No," 
said  he,  "  it  was  not  true  ;  it  was  a 
fantasy  of  fever.  It  is  past,  and  I  have 
recovered.  To-morrow,  after  I  receive 
my  diploma,  I  will  accompany  you 
home,  and  you,  friend,  will  go  with 
us." 

The  next  day  the  students  rushed  in 
crowds  to  the  university  to  listen  to  the 
discourse  of  the  learned  and  worthy 
Herr  Lupinus.  Not  only  the  students 
and  the  professors,  but  many  other  per- 
sons, were  assembled  in  the  hall,  to 
honor  the  young  man,  of  whom  the 
professors  said  that  he  was  not  only  a 
model  of  scholarship,  but  of  modesty 
and  virtue.  Even  actors  were  seen  to 
grace  the  holy  halls  of  science  on  this 
occasion,  and  the  students  laughed 
with  delight  and  cried  "  Bravo !  "  as 
they  recognized  near  Fredcrsdorf  the 
noble  and  sharp  profile  of  Eckhof. 
They  had  often  rushed  madly  to  the 
theatre;  why  should  he  not  sometimes 
honor  the  university  ? 

But  Eckhof  was  indifferent  to  the 
joyful  greeting  of  the  students;  ho 
gazed  steadily  toward  the  door,  through 
which  his  young  friend  must  enter  the 
hall ;  and  now,  as  the  hour  struck,  he 
stooped  over  Fredersdorf  and  seized  his 
hand. 

"Friend,"  said  he,  "a  wondrous  anx- 
iety oppresses  me.  It  seems  to  me  I  am 
in  the  presence  of  a  sphinx,  who  is  in 
the  act  of  solving  a  great  mystery!  I 
am  a  coward,  and  would  take  refuge  in 
flight,  but  curiosity  binds  me  to  my 
seat." 

"You  promised  poor  Lupinus  to  be 
here,"  said  Fredersdorf,  earnestly.    "  li 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


181 


is  perhaps  the  last  friendly  service  you 
can  ever  show  him —  Ah!  there  he 
is." 

A  cry  of  surprise  burst  from  the  lips 
of  all.  There,  in  the  open  door,  stood, 
not  the  student  Lupinus,  but  a  young 
maiden,  in  a  white  satin  robe — a  young 
maiden  with  the  pale,  thoughtful,  gen- 
tle face  of  Lupinus.  A  man  stood  on 
each  side  of  her,  and  she  leaned  upon 
the  arm  of  one  of  them,  as  if  for  sup- 
port, as  they  walked  slowly  through  the 
room.  Her  large  eyes  wandered  ques- 
tioningly  and  anxiously  over  the  au- 
dience ;  and  now,  her  glance  met  Eck- 
hoPs,  and  a  deadly  pallor  covered  her 
face.  She  tried  to  smile,  and  bowed  her 
head  in  greeting. 

"This  is  the  secret  from  which  I 
wished  to  fly,"  murmured  Eckhof  "  I 
guessed  it  yesterday." 

"  I  knew  it  long  since,"  said  Freders- 
dorf,  sadly ;  ''  it  was  my  most  beautiful 
and  cherished  dream  that  your  hearts 
should  find  and  love  each  other.  Have 
I  not  often  told  you  that  Lupinus  was 
not  your  friend,  but  your  bride  ;  that 
no  woman  would  ever  love  you  as  he 
did  ?  You  would  not  understand  me. 
Your  heart  was  of  stone,  and  her  hap- 
piness has  been  crushed  by  it." 

"  Poor,  unhappy  girl ! "  sighed  Eck- 
hof, and  tears  ran  slowly  down  his 
cheeks.  "  I  have  acted  the  part  of  a 
barbarian  towai'd  you !  Yesterday 
with  smiling  lips  1  pressed  a  dagger  in 
her  heart ;  she  did  not  cm-se,  but 
blessed  me ! " 

"  Listen  !  she  speaks  !  " 

It  was  the  maiden's  father  who 
spoke.  In  simple  phrase  he  asked 
forgiveness  of  the  Faculty,  for  having 
dared  to  send  them  a  daughter,  in 
place  of  a  son.  But  it  had  been  his 
cherished  wish  to  prove  that  only  the 
arrogance  and  prejudice  of  men  had 
banished  women  from  the  universities. 
Heaven  had  denied  him  a  son.  He 
had  soon  discovered  that  his  daughter 


was  rarely  endowed ;  he  determined  to 
educate  her  as  a  son,  and  thus  repair 
the  loss  fate  had  prepared  for  him. 
His  daughter  entered  readily  into  his 
plans,  and  solemnly  swore  to  guard  her 
secret  until  she  had  completed  her 
studies.  She  had  fulfilled  this  prom- 
ise, and  now  stood  here  to  ask  the 
Faculty  if  they  would  grant  a  woman  a 
diploma. 

The  professors  spoke  awhile  with 
each  other,  and  then  announced  to  the 
audience  that  Lupinus  had  been  the 
most  industrious  and  promising  of  all 
their  students ;  the  pride  and  favorite 
of  all  the  professors.  The  announce- 
ment that  she  was  a  woman  would 
make  no  change  in  her  merit  or  their 
intentions;  that  the  maiden  Lupina 
would  be  received  by  them  with  as 
much  joy  and  satisfaction  as  the  youth 
Lupinus  would  have  been.  The  dis- 
putation might  now  begin. 

A  murmur  of  applause  was  heard 
from  the  benches,  and  now  the  clear, 
soft,  but  slightly  trembling  voice  of 
the  young  gu-1  commenced  to  read. 
How  strangely  did  the  heavy,  pompous 
Latin  words  contrast  with  the  slight, 
fairy  form  of  the  youthful  girl !  She 
stood  adorned  like  a  bride,  in  satin  ar- 
ray ;  not  like  a  bride  of  earth,  inspired 
by  love,  but  a  bride  of  heaven,  in  the 
act  of  laying  down  before  God's  altai' 
all  her  earthly  hopes  and  passions ! 
She  felt  thus.  She  dedicated  herself 
to  a  joyless  and  unselfish  existence  al 
the  altar  of  science  ;  she  would  not  lead 
an  idle,  useless,  musing,  cloister-life. 
With  a  holy  oath  she  swore  to  serve 
her  race ;  to  soothe  the  pain  of  those 
who  suffered;  to  stand  by  the  sick- 
beds of  women  and  children;  to  give 
that  love  to  suffering,  weeping  human- 
ity which  she  had  once  consecrated  to 
one  alone,  and  which  had  come  home, 
like  a  bleeding  dove,  with  broken 
wings,  powerless  and  hopeless  ! 

The  disputation  was  at  an  end.     The 


182 


BERLIN   AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


deacon  declared  the  maiden,  Dorothea 
Christine  Lupinus,  a  doctor.  The 
Btudents  uttered  wild  applause,  and  the 
professors  drew  near  the  old  Lupinus, 
to  congratulate  him,  and  to  renew  the 
acquaintance  of  former  days. 

The  fair  young  Bride  of  Arts  thought 
not  of  this.  She  looked  toward  Eck- 
hof ;  their  glances  were  rooted  in  each 
other  firmly  but  tearlessly.  She  waved 
to  him  with  her  hands,  and  obedient 
to  her  wish  he  advanced  to  the  door, 
then  turned  once  more  ;  their  eyes  met, 
and  she  had  the  courage  to  look  softly 
upon  the  friend  of  her  youth,  Ervel- 
man,  who  had  accompanied  her  father, 
and  say : 

"  I  will  fulfil  my  father's  vow — I  will 
be  a  faithful  wife.  Look,  you,  Ervel- 
man,  the  star  has  gone  out  which 
blinded  my  eyes,  and  now  I  see  again 
clearly."  She  pointed,  with  a  trem- 
bling hand,  to  Eckhof,  who  was  disap- 
pearing. 

"Friend,"  said  Eckhof,  to  Freders- 
dorf,  "  if  the  gods  truly  demand  a  great 
sacrifice  as  a  propitiation,  I  think  I 
have  offered  one  this  day.  I  have  cast 
my  Polycrates'  ring  into  the  sea,  and  a 
part  of  my  heart's  blood  was  cleaving 
to  it.  May  fate  be  reconciled,  and 
grant  me  the  happiness  this  pale  and 
lovely  maiden  has  consecrated  with  her 
tears  !  Farewell,  Christine,  farewell ! 
Our  paths  in  life  are  widely  separated. 
Who  knows,  perhaps  we  will  meet 
again  in  heaven  ?  You  belong  to  the 
saints,  and  I  am  a  poor  comedian,  who 
makes  a  false  show  throtighout  a  wild 
tumultuous  life  with  some  pompous 
shreds  and  tatters  of  art  and  beauty,  to 
whom,  perhaps,  the  angels  in  heaven 
will  deny  a  place,  even  as  the  priests  on 
earth  deny  him  a  grave."  * 

*  Eckhof  lived  to  awake  respect  and  love  for 
the  niitional  theatre  throughout  al!  Germany.  He 
bad  his  own  theatre  in  Gotha,  where  he  was  born, 
ind  where  he  died  in  1778.  He  performed  the 
louble  service  of  exalting  the  German  stage,  and 
tbtaining  foi  the  actors  coLelderation  and  respect. 


CHAPTEK  Xn. 

teenck's  first  flight. 

"This  is,  then,  the  day  of  liberation  ?  " 
said  Princess  Amelia  to  her  confidante, 
Mademoiselle  von  Haak.  "To-day, 
after  five  months  of  torture,  he  will 
again  be  free,  will  again  enjoy  life  and 
liberty.  And  to  me,  happy  princess, 
will  he  owe  all  these  blessings ;  to  me, 
whom  God  has  permitted  to  survive 
all  these  torments,  that  I  might  be  the 
means  of  effectiog  his  deliverance,  for, 
without  doubt,  our  work  will  succeed, 
will  it  not  ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly,"  said  Ernestine  von 
Haak;  "we  shall  and  must  succeed." 

"Let  us  reconsider  the  whole  plan, 
if  only  to  enliven  the  tedious  hours 
with  pleasant  thoughts.  When  the 
commandant  of  the  prison.  Major  vou 
Doo,  pays  the  customary  Sunday-morn- 
ing visit  to  Trenck's  cell,  and  while  he  is 
carefully  examining  every  nook  to  as- 
sure himself  that  the  captive  nobleman 
lias  not  been  endeavoring  to  make  a 
pathway  to  liberty,  Trenck  will  sud- 
denly overjiower  him,  deprive  him  of 
his  sword,  and  rush  past  him  out  of  the 
cell.  At  the  door  he  will  be  met  by 
the  soldier  Nicolai,  who  is  in  our  con- 
fidence, and  will  seem  not  to  notice  his 
escape.  Once  over  the  palisades,  he 
will  find  a  horse,  which  we  have  placed 
in  readiness.  Concealed  by  the  military 
cloak  thrown  over  him,  and  armed 
with  pistols  with  which  his  saddle-hol- 
sters have  been  furnished,  he  will  fly 
on  the  wings  of  the  wind  toward  Bo- 
hemia. Near  the  border,  at  the  village 
of  Lonnschiitz,  a  second  horse  will 
await  him.  He  will  mount  and  hurry 
on  until  the  boundary  and  liberty  are 
obtained.  All  seems  so  safe,  Ernestine, 
so  easy  of  execution,  that  I  can  scarcely 
believe  in  the  possibility  of  a  failure." 

"It  will  not  fail,"  said  Ernestine  voe 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT   AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


183 


Haak.  "  Our  scheme  is  good,  and  will 
be  ably  assisted — it  must  succeed." 

"  Provided  he  find  the  places  where 
the  horses  stand  concealed." 

"  These  he  cannot  foil  to  find.  They 
arc  accurately  designated  in  a  little  note 
which  my  h)ver,  when  he  has  charge  of 
the  prison-guard,  will  contrive  to  con- 
vey to  hira.  Schnell's  known  fidelity 
vouches  for  the  horses  being  in  readi- 
ness. As  your  royal  highness  was  not 
willing  that  we  should  enlist  accom- 
plices among  the  soldiers,  the  only 
question  that  need  give  us  uneasiness  is 
this :  Will  Trenck  be  able  to  overcome 
unaided  all  obstacles  within  the  forti- 
fications ? " 

'^No,"  answered  Amelia,  proudly; 
"  Trenck  shall  be  liberated,  but  I  will 
not  corrupt  my  brother's  soldiers.  To 
do  the  first,  is  my  right  and  my  duty, 
for  I  love  Trenck.  Should  I  dc  thfl 
second,  I  would  be  guilty  of  high-trea- 
son to  my  king,  and  this  even  love 
could  not  excuse.  Only  to  himself  and 
to  me  shall  Trenck  owe  his  freedom. 
Our  only  allies  shall  be  my  means  and 
his  own  strength.  He  has  the  courage 
of  a  hero  and  the  strength  of  a  giant. 
He  will  force  his  way  through  his  ene- 
mies like  Briareus ;  they  will  fall  before 
him  like  grain  before  the  reaper.  If  he 
cannot  kill  them  all  with  the  sword,  he 
will  annihilate  them  with  the  lightning 
of  his  glances,  for  a  heavenly  power 
dwells  in  his  eyes.  Moreover,  your 
lover  writes  that  he  is  beloved  by  the 
officers  of  the  garrison,  that  all  the 
boiaiers  sympathize  with  hira.  It  is 
well  that  it  is  not  necessary  to  bribe 
them  with  miserable  dross  ;  Trenck  has 
already  bribed  them  with  his  youth 
and  manly  beauty,  his  misfortunes  and 
his  amiability.  He  will  find  no  op- 
position, no  one  will  dispute  his  passage 
to  liberty." 

"  God  grant  that  it  may  be  as  your 
highness  predicts  !"  said  Ernestine, 
with  a  sigh. 


"Four  days  of  uncertainty  are  still 
before  us — would  that  they  had  pass- 
ed!" exclaimed  Princess  Amelia.  "I 
have  no  doubts  of  his  safety,  but  I  fear 
I  shall  not  survive  these  four  days  of 
anxiety.  Impatience  will  destroy  me. 
I  had  the  courage  to  endure  misery, 
but  I  feel  already  that  the  expectation 
of  happiness  tortures  me.  God  grant, 
at  least,  that  his  freedom  is  secured  ! " 

"Never  speak  of  dying,  with  the 
rosy  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes  your 
highness  has  to-day,"  said  Mademoi- 
selle von  Haak,  with  a  smile.  "  Your 
increasing  pallor,  caused  no  doubt  by 
your  grief,  has  given  me  much  pain. 
I  am  no  longer  uneasy,  however,  for 
you  have  recovered  health  and  strength, 
now  that  you  are  again  hopeful.  Aa 
for  the  four  days  of  expectancy,  we  will 
kill  them  with  merry  laughter,  gayety, 
and  dancing.  Does  not  the  queen  give 
a  ball  to-day  ?  is  there  not  a  masquer- 
ade at  the  opera  to-morrow  ?  For  the 
last  five  months  your  highness  has 
taken  part  in  these  festivities  because 
you  were  compelled ;  you  will  now  do 
so  of  your  own  accord.  You  will  no 
longer  dance  because  the  king  com- 
mands, but  because  you  are  young, 
happy,  and  full  oi  hope  for  the  future. 
On  the  first  and  second  day  you  will 
dance  and  fatigue  yourself  so  much, 
that  you  will  have  the  happiness  of 
sleeping  a  great  deal  on  the  third.  The 
fourth  day  will  dawn  upon  your  weary 
eyes,  and  whisper  in  your  ear  that 
Trenck  is  free,  and  that  it  is  you  who 
have  given  him  his  freedom." 

"Yes,  let  us  be  gay,  let  us  laugh, 
dance,  and  be  merry,"  exclaimed  Prin- 
cess Amelia.  "My  brother  shall  be 
satisfied  with  me;  he  need  no  longer 
regard  me  in  so  gloomy  and  threaten- 
ing a  manner ;  I  will  laugh  and  jest,  I 
will  adorn  myself,  and  surpass  all  the 
ladies  with  the  magnificence  of  my 
attire  and  my  sparkling  eyes.  Come, 
Ernestine,  coma     We  will  arrange  my 


184 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


toilet  for  tliis  evening.  It  shall  be 
magnificent.  I  will  wear  flowers  in  my 
hair  and  flowers  on  my  breast,  but  no 
pearls.  Pearls  signify  tears,  and  I  will 
weep  no  more." 

Joyously  she  danced  through  the 
room,  drawing  her  friend  to  the  bou- 
doir ;  joyously  she  passed  the  three  fol- 
lowing days  of  expectation  ;  joyously 
she  closed  her  eyes  on  the  evening  ot 
the  third  day,  to  see,  in  her  dreams,  her 
lover  kneeling  at  her  feet,  thanking 
her  for  his  liberty,  and  vowing  eternal 
fidelity  and  gratitude. 

Amelia  greeted  the  fourth  day  with 
a  happy  smile,  never  doubting  but  that 
it  would  bring  her  glad  tidings.  But 
hours  passed  away,  and  still  Mademoi- 
selle von  Haak  did  not  appear.  Amelia 
had  said  to  her :  "  I  do  not  wish  to  see 
you  to-morrow  until  you  can  bring  me 
good  news.  This  will,  however,  be  in 
your  power  at  an  early  hour,  and  you 
shall  flutter  into  my  chamber  with  these 
tidings,  like  the  dove  with  the  olive- 
branch." 

Mademoiselle  von  Haak  has  still  not 
yet  arrived.  But  now  the  door  opens — 
she  is  there,  but  her  face  is  pale,  her  eyes 
tearful ;  and  this  pale  lady  in  black, 
whose  noble  and  beautiful  features  re- 
call to  Amelia  such  charming  and  de- 
lightful remembrances  —  who  is  she? 
What  brings  her  here  ?  Why  does  she 
hurry  forward  to  the  princess  with 
streaming  eyes  ?  Why  does  she  kneel, 
raise  her  hands  imploringly,  and  whis- 
per, "  Mercy,  Princess  Amelia,  mercy  !  " 

Amelia  rises  from  her  seat,  pale  and 
trembling,  gazes  with  widely  extended 
eyes  at  the  kneeling  figure,  and,  almost 
speechless  with  terror,  asks  in  low 
tones,  "  Wlio  are  you,  madame  ?  What 
do  you  desire  of  me  ?  " 

The  pale  woman  at  her  feet  cries  in 
hear<>rending  accents,  "I  am  the  moth- 
er of  the  unfortunate  Frederick  von 
Trenck,  and  I  come  to  implore  mercy 
at  the  hands  of  your  royal  highness. 


My  son  attempted  to  escape,  but  God 
did  not  favor  his  undertaking.  He 
was  overtaken  by  misfortune,  after 
having  overcome  almost  all  obstacles, 
when  nothuig  but  the  palisades  sep- 
arated him  from  liberty  and  safety ;  he 
was  attacked  by  his  pursuers,  disarmed, 
and  carried  back  to  prison,  wounded 
and  bleeding."  * 

Amelia  uttered  a  cry  of  horror,  and 
fell  back  on  her  seat  pale  and  breath- 
less, almost  senseless.  Mademoiselle 
von  Haak  took  her  gently  in  her  arms, 
and,  amid  her  tears,  whispered  words 
of  consolation,  of  sympathy,  and  of 
hope.  But  Amelia  scarcely  heeded  her ; 
she  looked  down  vacantly  upon  the 
pallid,  weeping  woman  who  still  knelt 
at  her  feet. 

"  Have  mercy,  princess,  have  mercy  ! 
You  alone  can  assist  me ;  therefore 
have  I  come  to  you;  therefore  have 
I  entreated  Mademoiselle  von  Haak 
with  tears,  until  she  could  no  longer 
refuse  to  conduct  me  to  your  presence. 
Regardless,  at  last,  of  etiquette  and 
ceremony,  she  permitted  me  to  fall  at 
your  feet,  and  to  cry  to  you  for  help. 
You  are  an  angel  of  goodness  and 
mercy ;  pity  an  unfortunate  mother,  who 
wishes  to  save  her  son  ! " 

"And  you  believe  that  I  can  do 
this !  "  said  Amelia,  breathlessly. 

"  You  alone,  royal  highness,  have 
the  power  to  save  my  son's  life !  " 

"  Tell  me  by  what  means,  countess, 
and  I  will  save  him,  if  it  costs  my 
heart's  blood." 

"  Conduct  me  to  the  king.  This  is 
all  that  I  require  of  you.  He  has  not  yet 
been  informed  of  my  son's  unfortunate 
attempt.  I  must  be  the  fii'st  to  bring 
him  this  intelligence.  I  will  confess 
that  it  was  I  who  assisted  my  son  in 
this  attempt,  who  bribed  the  non-com- 
missioned officer,  Nicolai,  with  flattery 
and  tears,   with   gold    and  promises; 

♦  Trenck's  Biography,  i.,  80 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AXD   HIS  FRIENDS. 


185 


tliat  it  was  I  who  placed  the  horses  and 
loaded  pistols  in  readiness  beyond  the 
outer  palisade;  that  I  sent  my  son  the 
thousand  ducats  which  were  found  on 
Ills  person ;  that  I  wrote  him  the  letter 
containing  vows  of  eternal  love  and 
fidelity.  The  king  will  pardon  a  mo- 
ther who,  in  endeavonng  to  liberate  her 
son,  left  no  means  of  success  untried." 

"You  are  a  noble,  a  generous  wo- 
man ! "  exclaimed  the  princess,  with 
enthusiasm.  "  You  are  worthy  to  be 
Trenck's  mother !  You  say  that  I 
must  save  him,  and  you  have  come  to 
save  me !  But  I  will  not  accept  this 
sacrifice;  I  will  not  be  cowardly  and 
timidly  silent,  when  you  have  the  cour- 
age to  speak.  Let  the  king  know  all ; 
let  him  know  that  Trenck  was  not  the 
son,  but  the  lover  of  her  who  endeav- 
ored to  give  him  his  freedom,  and 
that—" 

"  If  you  would  save  him,  be  silent ! 
The  king  can  be  merciful  when  it  was 
the  mother  who  attempted  to  liberate 
the  son;  he  will  be  inexorable  if 
another  has  made  this  mad  attempt; 
and,  above  all,  if  he  cannot  punish  the 
transgressor,  my  son's  punishment  will 
be  doubled." 

"Listen  to  her  words,  princess,  adopt 
her  counsel,"  whispered  the  weeping 
Ernestine.  "  Preserve  yourself  for  the 
unfortunate  Trenck;  protect  his  friends 
by  your  silence,  and  we  may  still  hope 
to  form  a  better  and  hapjjier  plan  of  es- 
cape." 

"  Be  it  so,"  said  the  princess  with  a 
sigh.  "  I  will  bring  him  this  addi- 
tional sacrifice.  I  will  l)e  silent.  God 
knows  that  I  would  willingly  lay  down 
my  life  for  him.  I  would  find  this 
easier  than  to  veil  my  love  in  cowardly 
silence.  Come,  I  will  conduct  you  to 
the  king." 

"  But  I  have  not  yet  told  your  royal 
fiighness  that  the  king  is  in  his  library, 
and  has  ordered  that  no  one  should  be 
admitted  to  his  presence." 


"  I  will  be  admitted.  I  will  conduct 
you  through  the  private  corridor  and 
the  king's  apartments,  and  not  by  war 
of  the  grand  antechamber.    Come." 

She  seized  the  countess's  hand  and 
led  her -away. 

The  king  was  alone  in  his  library, 
sitting  at  a  table  covered  with  books 
and  papers,  busily  engaged  in  writing. 
From  time  to  time  he  paused,  and 
thoughtfully  regarded  what  he  had 
written.  "I  have  commenced  a  new 
work,  which  it  is  to  be  hoped  will  be  aa 
great  a  success  in  the  field  of  science  as 
several  that  I  have  achieved  with  the 
sword  on  another  field.  I  know  my 
wish  and  my  aim ;  I  have  undertaken  a 
truly  noble  task.  I  will  write  the  his- 
tory of  my  times,  not  in  the  form  of 
memoirs,  nor  as  a  commentary,  but  as 
a  free,  independent,  and  impartial  his- 
tory. I  will  describe  the  decline  of 
Europe,  and  will  endeavor  to  portray 
the  follies  and  weaknesses  of  her  ru- 
lers.* My  respected  colleagues,  the 
kings  and  princes,  have  provided  me 
with  rich  materials  for  a  ludicrous  pic- 
ture. To  do  this  work  justice,  the  pen- 
cil of  a  Hollenbreughel  and  the  pen  of 
a  Thucydides  were  desirable.  Ah ! 
glory  is  so  piquant  a  dish,  that  the 
more  we  indulge,  the  more  we  thirst 
after  its  enjoyment.  Why  am  I  not 
satisfied  with  being  called  a  good  gen- 
eral ?  why  do  I  long  for  the  honor  of 
being  crowned  in  the  capitol  ?  "Well,  it 
certainly  will  not  be  his  holiness  the 
pope  who  crowns  me  or  elevates  me  to 
the  rank  of  a  saint — truly,  I  am  not  en- 
vious of  such  titles.  I  shall  be  con- 
tented if  posterity  shall  call  me  a  good 
prince,  a  brave  soldier,  and  a  good 
lawgiver,  and  forgives  me  for  having 
sometimes  mounted  the  Pegasus  instead 
of  the  war-horse." 

With  a  merry  smile,  the  king  now 
resumed  his  writing.     The  door  which 

*  The  king's  own  words. — "  (Euvres  posthameJ 
Correspondance  avec  Yoltaira," 


186 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI ,    OR, 


communicated  with  his  apartment  was 
opened  softly,  and  Princess  Amelia, 
her  countenance  pale  and  sorrowful, 
looked  searchingly  into  the  room.  See- 
ing that  the  king  was  still  writing,  she 
knocked  gently.  The  king  turned  has- 
tily and  angrily. 

"Did  I  not  say  that  I  desired  to  be 
alone  ?  "  said  he,  indignantly.  Perceiv- 
ing his  sister,  he  now  arose,  an  expres- 
sion of  anxiety  pervading  his  counte- 
nance. *'  Ah,  my  sister  !  your  sad  face 
proclaims  you  the  bearer  of  bad  news," 
said  he ;  "  and  very  imj^ortant  it  must 
have  been  to  bring  you  unannounced  to 
my  presence." 

"  My  brother,  misfortune  has  always 
the  privilege  of  coming  unannounced  to 
the  presence  of  princes,  to  implore  pity 
and  mercy  at  their  hands.  I  claim  this 
holy  privilege  for  the  unfortunate  lady 
who  has  prayed  for  my  intercession  in 
her  behalf.  Sire,  will  you  graciously 
accord  her  an  audience  ?  " 

"  Wlio  is  she  ?  "  asked  the  king,  dis- 
contentedly. 

"  Sire,  it  is  the  Countess  Lostange," 
said  Amelia,  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice. 

"  The  mother  of  the  rebellious  Lieu- 
tenant von  Trenck  !  "  exclaimed  the 
king,  in  an  almost  threatening  tone, 
his  eyes  flashing  angrily. 

"  Yes,  it  is  the  mother  of  the  unfortu- 
nate Von  Trenck  who  implores  mercy 
of  your  majesty  ! "  exclaimed  the  count- 
ess, falling  on  her  knees  at  the  thresh- 
old of  the  door. 

The  king  recoiled  a  step,  and  his  eye 
grew  darker.  "  Really,  you  obtain 
your  audiences  in  a  daring  manner — you 
conquer  them,  and  make  the  princess 
your  herald." 

"  Sire,  I  was  refused  admission.  In 
the  anguish  of  my  heart,  I  turned  to 
the  princess,  who  was  generous  enough 
to  incur  the  displeasure  of  her  royal 
brotl'.er  for  my  sake." 

"  And  was  that  which  you  had  to 
Bay  really  so  urgent  ? " 


"  Sire,  for  five  months  has  my  son 
been  languishing  in  prison,  and  you 
ask  if  there  is  an  urgent  necessity  foj 
his  mother's  appeal.  My  son  has  in- 
curred your  majesty's  displeasure ;  why, 
I  know  not.  He  is  a  prisoner,  and 
stands  accused  of  I  know  not  what. 
Be  merciful — let  me  know  his  crime, 
that  I  may  endeavor  to  atone  for  it." 

"  Madame,  a  mother  is  not  responsi- 
ble for  her  son ;  a  woman  cannot  atone 
for  a  man's  crimes.  Leave  your  son  to 
his  destiny ;  it  may  be  a  brighter  one 
at  some  future  day,  if  he  is  wise  and 
prudent,  and  heeds  the  warning  which 
is  now  knocking  at  his  benighted 
heart."  At  these  words,  the  king's 
glance  rested  for  a  moment  on  the 
countenance  of  the  princess,  as  if  this 
warning  had  also  been  intended  for 
her. 

"  It  is,  then,  your  majesty's  intention 
to  cheer  a  mother's  heart  with  hope  ? 
My  son  will  not  be  long  a  captive. 
You  will  pardon  bim  for  this  crime  of 
which  I  have  no  knowledge,  and  which 
you  do  not  feel  inclined  to  mention." 

"  Shall  I  make  it  known  to  you, 
madame  ? "  said  the  king,  with  severi- 
ty. "  He  carried  on  an  imprudent 
and  treasonable  correspondence,  and  if 
tried  by  court-martial,  would  be  found 
guilty  of  high-treason.  But,  in  con- 
sideration of  his  youth,  and  several  ex- 
tenuating circumstances  with  which  I 
alone  am  acquainted,  I  will  be  lenient 
with  him.  Be  satisfied  with  this  assur- 
ance :  in  a  year  your  son  will  be  free ; 
and  when  solitude  has  brought  him  to 
reflection,  and  the  consciousness  of  his 
crime,  when  he  is  more  humble  and 
wiser,  I  will  again  be  a  gracious  king 
to  him.*  "Write  this  to  your  son,  ma- 
dame, and  receive  my  best  wishes  for 
yourself," 

"  Oh,  sire,  you  do  not  yet  know  all.  I 
have  another  confession  to  make,  and — " 

•  Trenck'»  Memdre,  1.,  82. 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


187 


A  light  knock  at  the  door  communi- 
3ating  with  the  antechamber  interrupt- 
ed her,  and  a  voice  from  the  outside 
exclaimed :  "  Sire,  a  courier  with  im- 
portant dispatches  from  Silesia." 

"  Retire  to  the  adjoining  apartment, 
and  wait  there,"  said  the  king,  turning 
to  his  sister. 

Both  ladies  left  the  room. 

"  Dispatches  from  Silesia,"  whispered 
the  countess.  "  The  king  will  now 
learn  all,  I  fear." 

"  WeU,  if  he  does,"  said  the  princess, 
almost  defiantly,  "  we  are  here  to  save 
him,  and  we  will  save  him." 

A  short  time  elapsed ;  then  the  door 
was  violently  thrown  open,  and  the 
king  appeared  on  the  threshold,  his 
eyes  flashing  with  anger. 

"  Madame,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the 
papers  which  he  held  in  his  hand, 
"  from  these  papers  I  have  undoubted- 
ly learned  what  it  was  your  intention  to 
have  communicated  to  me.  Your  scm 
has  attempted  to  escape  from  prison 
like  a  cowardly  criminal,  a  malefactor 
weighed  down  with  guilt.  In  this  at- 
tempt he  has  killed  and  wounded  sol- 
diers, disarmed  the  governor  of  the 
fortress,  and,  in  his  insolent  frenzy,  has 
endeavored  to  scale  the  palisades  in 
broad  daylight.  Madame,  nothing  but 
the  consciousness  of  his  own  guilt 
could  have  induced  him  to  attempt  so 
daring  a  flight,  and  he  must  have  had 
criminal  accomplices  vvho  advised  him 
to  this  step — accomplices  who  bribed 
the  sentinel  on  duty  before  his  door; 
who  secretly  conveyed  money  to  him, 
and  held  horses  in  readiness  for  bis 
flight.  "Woe  to  them  if  I  should  ever 
discover  the  criminals  who  treasonably 
induced  my  soldiers  and  officers  to 
break  their  oath  of  fidelity  !  " 

"  I,  your  majesty,  I  was  this  crimi- 
nal," said  the  countess.  "A  mother 
may  well  dare  to  achieve  the  freedom 
of  her  son  at  any  price.  It  is  her  priv- 
ilege to  defend  him  with  any  weapon. 


I  bribed  the  soldiers,  placed  the  horses 
in  readiness,  and  conveyed  money  to 
my  son.  It  was  Trenck's  mother  who 
endeavored  to  liberate  him." 

"  And  you  have  only  brought  him  to 
greater,  to  more  hopeless  misery !  For 
now,  madame,  there  can  be  no  mercy. 
The  fugitive,  the  deserter,  has  forfeited 
the  favor  of  his  king.  Shame,  misery, 
and  perpetual  captivity  will  henceforth 
be  his  portion.  This  is  my  determi- 
nation. Hope  for  no  mercy.  The  arti- 
cles of  war  condemn  the  deserter  to 
death.  I  will  give  him  his  life,  but 
freedom  I  cannot  give  him,  for  I  now 
know  that  he  would  abuse  it.  Fare- 
well." 

"  Mercy !  mercy  for  my  son !  "  sobbed 
the  countess.  "  He  is  so  young  I  he 
has  a  long  life  before  him." 

"  A  life  of  remorse  and  repentance," 
said  the  king  with  severity.  "  I  will 
accord  him  no  other.     Go !  " 

He  was  on  the  point  of  reentering 
the  library.  A  hand  was  laid  on  his 
shoulder ;  he  turned  and  saw  the  pale 
countenance  of  his  sister. 

"  My  brother,"  said  the  princess,  in 
a  firm  voice,  "  permit  me  to  speak  with 
you  alone  for  a  moment.  Proceed,  I 
will  follow  you." 

Her  bearing  was  proud,  almost  dicta- 
torial. Her  sternly  tranquU  manner, 
her  clear  and  earnest  brow,  showed 
plainly  that  she  had  formed  an  heroic 
determination.  She  was  no  longer  the 
young  girl,  timidly  praying  for  her 
lover ;  she  was  the  fearless  woman,  de- 
termined to  defend  him,  or  die  for 
him.  The  king  read  this  in  her  coun- 
tenance, it  was  plainly  indicated  in  her 
royal  bearing ;  and  with  the  reverence 
and  consideration  which  great  spirits 
ever  accord  to  misfortune,  he  did 
homage  to  this  woman  toward  whom 
he  was  so  strongly  drawn  by  sympathy 
and  pity. 

"Come,  my  sister,  come,"  said  he, 
oflfeidng  his  hand. 


188 


BERLIN  AXD  SANS-SCUCI;    OR. 


Amelia  did  not.  take  his  hand ;  by  his 
side  she  walked  into  the  library,  and 
softly  locked  the  door  behind  her.  One 
moment  she  rested  against  the  wall,  as 
if  to  gather  strength.  The  king  hastily 
crossed  the  room,  and  looked  out  at  the 
window.  Hearing  the  rustle  of  her 
dress  behind  him,  he  turned  and  ad- 
vanced toward  the  princess.  She  re- 
garded him  fixedly  with  cold  and  tear- 
less eyes. 

"  Is  it  sufficient  if  I  promise  never  to 
see  him  again  ? "  said  she. 

"  The  promise  is  superfluous,  for  I 
will  make  a  future  meeting  imijossible." 

She  inclined  her  head  slightly,  as  if 
this  answer  had  been  expected. 

"Is  it  enough  if  I  swear  never  to 
write  to  him  again,  never  more  to  give 
him  a  token  of  my  love  ? " 

"  I  would  not  believe  this  oath.  If  I 
stt  him  at  liberty  he  would  compromise 
you'and  your  family,  by  boasting  of  a 
love  which  yielded  to  circumstances 
and  necessity  only,  and  not  to  reason 
and  indifference,  I  will  make  you  no 
reproaches  at  present,  for  I  think  your 
conscience  is  doing  that  for  me.  But 
this  much  I  will  say  :  I  will  not  set  him 
at  liberty  until  he  no  longer  believes  in 
your  love." 

"  Will  you  liberate  him  if  I  rob  him 
of  this  belief?  If  I  hurl  the  broken 
bond  of  my  promised  faith  in  his  face  ? 
If  I  tell  him  that  fear  and  cowardice 
have  extinguished  my  love,  and  that  I 
bid  him  farewell  forever  ? " 

"  Write  him  this,  and  I  promise  you 
that  he  shall  be  free  in  a  few  months  ; 
but,  understand  me  well,  free  to  go 
where  he  will,  but  banished  from  my 
kingdom." 

"  Shall  I  write  at  once  ?  "  said  she, 
with  an  expression  of  utter  indifference, 
and  with  icy  tranquillity. 

"  Write  ;  you  will  find  all  that  is  ne- 
cessary on  my  escritoire.-^ 

She  walked  composedly  to  the  table 
and  seated  herself.     When  she  com- 


menced writing,  a  deathly  pallor  came 
over  her  fiice;  her  breath  came  and 
went  hurriedly  and  painfully.  The 
king  stood  near,  regarding  her  with  an 
expression  of  deep  solicitude. 

"  Have  you  finished  ?  "  said  he,  as  she 
pushed  the  paper  aside  on  which  she 
had  been  writing. 

"  No,"  said  she  calmly,  ''  it  was  only 
a  tear  that  had  fallen  on  the  paper.  I 
must  begin  again."  And  with  perfect 
composure  she  took  another  sheet  of 
paper,  and  began  writing  anew. 

The  king  turned  away  with  a  sigh. 
He  felt  that  if  he  longer  regarded  this 
pale,  resigned  face,  he  would  lose  sight 
of  reason  and  duty,  and  restore  to  her 
her  lover.  He  again  advanced  to  the 
window,  and  looked  thoughtfully  out 
at  the  sky.  "  Is  it  possible  ?  can  it  be?" 
he  asked  himself.  "  May  I  forget  my 
duties  as  head  of  my  family,  and  only 
remember  that  she  is  my  sister,  and  that 
she  is  suffering  and  weeping?  Must 
we  then  all  pay  for  this  empty  gran- 
deur, this  frippery  of  earthly  magnifi- 
cence, with  our  heart's  blood  and  our 
best  hopes  ?  And  if  I  now  deprive  her 
of  her  dreams  of  hapi^iness,  what  com- 
pensation can  I  offer  ?  With  what  can 
I  replace  her  hopes,  her  love,  the  hap- 
piness of  her  youth  ?  At  the  best,  with 
a  little  earthly  splendor,  with  the  pur- 
ple and  the  crown,  and  eventually,  per- 
haps, with  my  love.  Yes,  I  will  love 
her  truly  and  cordially ;  she  shall  for 
give  the  brother  for  the  king's  harsh- 
ness ;  she  shall — " 

"  I  have  finished,"  said  the  sad  voice 
of  his  sister. 

The  king  turned  from  the  window  , 
Amelia  stood  at  the  escritoire,  holding 
the  paper  on  which  she  had  been  writ- 
ing in  one  hand,  and  sustaining  herself 
by  the  table  with  the  other, 

"  Read  what  you  have  written,"  said 
the  king,  approaching  her. 

The  princess  bowed  her  head  and 
read : 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


189 


''I  pity  you,  but  your  misfortune  is 
irremediable ;  and  I  cannot  and  will 
aot  attempt  to  alleviate  it,  for  fear  of 
compromising  myself.  This  is,  there- 
fore, my  last  letter — I  can  risk  nothing 
more  for  you.  Do  not  attempt  to  write 
to  me,  for  I  should  return  your  letter 
unopened.  Our  separation  must  be  for- 
ever, but  I  will  always  remain  your 
friend;  aud  if  I  can  ever  serve  you 
hereafter,  I  will  do  so  gladly.  Farewell, 
unhappy  friend,  you  deserve  a  better 
fate."  * 

"That  is  all  ?"  said  the  king,  as  his 
sister  ceased  reading. 

"  That  is  all,  sire." 

"  And  you  imagine  that  he  will  no 
longer  believe  in  your  love,  when  he 
receives  this  letter  ? "  said  the  king, 
with  a  sad  smile. 

"  I  am  sure  he  will  not,  for  I  tell  him 
in  this  letter  that  I  will  risk  nothing 
more  for  him;  that  I  will  not  even  at- 
tempt to  alleviate  his  misery.  Only 
when  one  is  cowardly  enough  to  sacri- 
fice love  to  selfish  fears,  could  one  do 
this.  I  shall  have  purchased  his  liberty 
with  his  consent." 

"  What  would  you  have  written  if 
you  had  been  permitted  to  follow  the 
promptings  of  your  heart  ?  " 

A  rosy  hue  flitted  over  her  counte- 
.xcuice,  and  love  beamed  in  her  eyes.  "  I 
would  have  written,  '  Believe  in  me, 
trust  in  me  !  For  henceforth  the  oue 
aim  of  my  life  will  be  to  liberate  you. 
Let  me  die  when  I  have  attained  this 
aim,  but  die  in  the  consciousness  of 
having  saved  you,  and  of  having  been 
true  to  my  love.' " 

"  You  would  have  written  that  ? " 

"I  would  have  written  that,"  said 
%he,  proudly  and  joyfully.  "  And  the 
truth  of  that  letter  he  would  not  have 
doubted." 

"Oh,  woman's  lieart !  inexhaustible 
Bource  of  love  and  devotion  ! "   mur- 

Trenck's  Memoln,  t,  86. 


mured  the  king,  turning  away  to  con 
ceal  his  emotion  from  his  sister. 

"  Is  this  letter  sufficient  ?  "  demanded 
the  princess.     "  Shall  Trenck  be  free  ?  " 

"  I  have  promised  it,  and  will  keep 
my  word.  Fold  the  letter  and  direct 
it.     It  shall  be  forwarded  at  once." 

"  And  when  will  he  be  free  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  set  him  at  liberty  immedi- 
ately.    I  would  be  setting  my  officers  a 
bad  example.    But  in  three  months  he, 
shall  be  free." 

"  In  three  months,  then.  Here  is  the 
letter,  sire." 

The  king  took  the  letter  and  placed 
it  in  his  bosom.  "  And  now,  my  sister, 
come  to  my  heart,"  said  he,  holding  out 
his  arms.  "  Tlie  king  was  angry  with 
you,  the  brother  will  weep  with  you. 
Come,  Amelia,  come  to  your  brother's 
heart." 

Amelia  did  not  throw  herself  in  his 
ai'ms ;  she  stood  still,  and  seemed  not 
to  have  heard,  not  to  have  understooa 
his  words. 

"I  pray  that  your  majesty  will  allow 
me  to  retire,"  said  she.  "  I  think  we 
have  finished — we  have  no  other  busi- 
ness to  transact." 

"  Oh !  my  sister,"  said  Frederick, 
mournfully,  "  think  of  what  you  are 
doing ;  do  not  harden  your  heart  against 
me.  Believe  me,  I  suffer  with  you  ;  and 
if  the  only  question  were  the  sacrifice 
of  my  personal  wishes,  I  would  gladly 
yield.  But  I  must  consider  my  ances- 
toi-s,  the  history  of  my  house,  and  the 
prejudices  of  the  world.  Amelia,  I  can- 
not, I  dare  not  do  otherw'ise.  Forgive 
me,  ray  sister.  And  now,  once  more, 
let  us  hold  firmly  to  each  other  in 
love  and  trust.  Let  me  fold  you  to  ray 
heart." 

He  advanced  and  extended  his  hand, 
but  his  sister  slowly  recoiled. 

"  Allow  me  to  remind  your  majesty 
that  a  poor  unhappy  woman  is  awaiting 
a  word  of  consolation  in  the  next  room, 
and  that  this  woman  is  Trenck's  mother. 


190 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


She,  at  least,  will  be  happy  when  I  in- 
form her  that  her  sou  will  soon  be  free. 
Permit  me,  therefore,  sire,  to  take  my 
leave,  and  bear  her  this  good  news." 

She  bowed  formally  and  profoundly, 
and  walked  slowly  across  the  room. 
The  king  no  longer  endeavored  to  hold 
her  back.  He  followed  her  with  a 
mournful,  questioning  glance,  still  hop- 
ing that  she  would  turn  and  seek  a 
reconciliation.  She  reached  the  door, 
now  she  turned.  The  king  stepped  for- 
w^ard  rapidly,  but  Princess  Amelia 
bowed  ceremoniously  and  disappeared. 

"  Lost !  I  have  lost  her,"  sighed  the 
king.  "  Oh,  my  God  !  must  I  then  part 
from  all  that  I  love?  Was  it  not 
enough  to  lose  my  friends  by  death? 
will  cruel  fate  also  rob  me  of  a  loved 
and  living  sister  ?  Ah  !  I  am  a  jjoor,  a 
wretched  man,  and  yet  they  call  me  a 
king." 

Frederick  slowly  seated  himself,  and 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  He 
remained  in  this  position  for  a  long 
time,  his  sighs  being  the  only  interrup- 
tion to  the  silence  which  reigned  in  the 
apartment. 

"  Work  !  I  will  work,"  said  he  proud- 
ly. "  This  is  at  least  a  consolation,  and 
teaches  forgetfulness." 

He  walked  hurriedly  to  his  escritoire^ 
seated  himself,  and  regarded  the  manu- 
sciipts  and  papers  which  lay  before 
him.  He  took  up  one  of  the  manu- 
scripts and  began  to  read,  but  with  an 
impatient  gesture  he  soon  laid  it  aside. 

"  The  letters  swim  before  my  eyes  in 
inextricable  confusion.  My  God,  how- 
hard  it  is  to  do  one's  duty  I " 

He  rested  his  head  on  his  hand,  and 
was  lost  in  thought  for  a  long  time. 
Gradually  his  expression  brightened, 
and  a  wondrous  light  beamed  in  his 
eyes. 

''  Yes,"  said  he,  with  a  smile,  "  yes, 
80  shall  it  be.  I  have  just  lost  a  much- 
loved  sister.  Well,  it  is  customary  to 
erect  a  monument  in  memory  of  those 


we  love.  Poor,  lost  sister,  I  will  erect 
a  monument  to  your  memory  The 
king  has  been  compelled  to  make  his 
sister  unhappy,  and  for  this  he  Tsrill  en- 
deavor to  make  his  people  happy.  And 
if  there  is  no  law  to  which  a  princess 
can  appeal  against  the  king,  there  shall 
at  least  be  laws  for  all  my  subjects, 
which  protect  them,  and  are  in  strict 
accordance  with  reason,  with  justice, 
and  the  godly  principle  of  equality. 
Yes,  I  will  give  my  people  a  new  code 
of  laws.*  This,  Amelia,  shall  be  the 
monument  which  I  will  erect  to  you  in 
my  heart.  In  this  very  hour  I  will 
write  to  Cocceji,  and  request  him  to 
sketch  the  outlines  of  this  new  code  of 
laws." 

The  king  seized  his  pen  and  com- 
menced writing.  "  The  judges,"  said 
he,  hastily  penning  his  words,  "the 
judges  must  administer  equal  and  im- 
j^artial  justice  to  all  without  respect  to 
rank  or  wealth,  as  they  expect  to  answer 
for  the  same  before  the  righteous  judg- 
ment-seat of  God,  and  in  order  that  the 
sighs  of  the  widows  and  orphans,  and 
of  all  that  are  oppressed,  may  not  be 
visited  ujion  themselves  and  their  chil- 
dren. No  rescripts,  although  issued 
from  this  cabinet,  shall  be  deemed 
worthy  of  the  slightest  consideration, 
if  they  contain  aught  manifestly  incom- 
patible with  equity,  or  if  the  strict 
course  of  justice  is  thereby  hindered  or 
interrupted  ;  but  the  judges  shall  pro- 
ceed according  to  the  dictates  of  duty 
and  conscience." 

The  king  continued  writing,  his 
countenance  becoming  more  and  more 
radiant  with  pleasure,  while  his  pen 
flew  over  the  paper.  He  was  so  com- 
pletely occupied  with  his  thoughts  that 
he  did  not  hear  the  door  open  behind 
him,  and  did  not  perceive  the  merry 
and  intelligent  face  of  his  favorite, 
General  Rothenberg,  looking  in. 

♦  Eidenbeck,  Diary,  p.  18T. 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


191 


The  king  ^vrote  on.  Rothenberg  stoop- 
ed and  phiced  sometliing  wliich  he  held 
in  his  arms  on  the  floor.  He  looked 
over  toward  the  king,  and  then  at  the 
graceful  little  greyhound  which  stood 
quietly  before  him.  This  was  no  other 
than  the  favorite  dog  of  the  king  which 
had  been  lost  and  a  captive.* 

The  little  Biche  stood  still  for  a  mo- 
ment, looking  around  intelligently,  and 
then  ran  lightly  across  the  apartment, 
sprang  upon  the  table  and  laid  its  fore- 
paw  on  the  king's  neck. 

"  Biche,  my  faithful  little  friend,  is  it 
you  ? "  said  Frederick,  throwing  his 
pen  aside  and  taking  the  animal  in 
his  arms.  Biche  began  to  bark  with 
delight,  nestle  closely  to  her  master, 
and  look  lovingly  at  hira  with  her 
small  bright  eyes.  And  the  king — 
he  inclined  his  face  on  the  head  of  his 
faithful  little  friend,  and  tears  ran 
slowly  down  his  cheeks.t 

"You  have  not  forgotten  me,  my 
little  Bichs  ?  Ah,  if  men  were  true, 
and  loved  me  as  you  do,  my  faithful 
little  dog,  I  should  be  a  rich,  a  happy 
king  1 " 

General  Rothenberg  still  stood  at  the 
half-opened  door.  "  Sire,"  said  he,  "  is 
it  only  Biche  who  has  the  grandes  and 
petites  entrees,  or  have  I  also  ? " 

"Ah,  it  was  then  you  who  brought 
Biche  ?  "  said  Frederick,  beckoning  to 
the  general  to  approach. 

"  Yes,  sire,  it  was  I,  but  I  almost  re- 
gret having  done  so,  for  I  perceive 
that  Biche  is  a  dangerous  rival,  aud  I 
am  jealous  of  her." 

"  You  are  my  best  gentleman-friend, 


*  The  greyhound  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the 
Austriaiis  at  the  battle  of  Sohr,  and  had  been  pre- 
sented by  General  Nadasti  to  his  wife  as  a  trophy. 
When  this  lady  learned  that  Biche  had  boen  a  pet 
of  the  king,  she  at  first  refused  to  give  it  up ;  and 
only  after  several  demands,  and  with  much  diflB- 
culty,  could  she  be  induced  t->  return  It. — Euden- 
becli.  Diary,  p.  126. 

+  Miicbler,  -Frederick  the  Great,"  p.  850.  E5- 
dcnbcck.  Diary,  p.  127. 


and  Biche  is  my  best  lady-friend,"  said 
the  king,  laughing.  "I  shall  never 
forget  that  Biche  on  one  occasion  might 
have  discovered  me  to  the  Austrians, 
and  did  not  betray  me,  as  thousands  of 
men  would  have  done  in  her  place. 
Had  she  barked  at  the  time  when  I 
had  concealed  myself  under  the  bridge, 
while  the  regiment  of  pandours  was 
passing  over,  I  should  have  been  lost. 
But  she  conquered  herself.  From  love 
to  me  she  renounced  her  instincts,  and 
was  silent.  She  nestled  close  to  my 
side,  regarding  me  with  her  discreet 
little  eyes,  and  licking  my  hand  lov- 
ingly. Ah,  my  friend,  believe  me, 
dogs  are  better  and  truer  than  man- 
kind, and  the  so-called  images  of  God 
could  learn  a  great  deal  from  them  I  " 


CHAPTER    Xni. 


THE   FLXGnT. 


Two  months  had  passed  since 
Trenck's  last  attempted  escape ;  two 
months  of  angui.sh,  of  despair.  But 
he  was  not  depressed,  not  hopeless; 
he  had  one  great  aim  before  his  eyes 
— to  be  free,  to  escape  from  this  prison. 
The  commandant  had  just  assured  him 
he  would  never  leave  it  alive. 

This  frightful  picture  of  a  life-long 
imprisonment  did  not  terrify  him,  did 
not  agitato  a  nerve  or  relax  a  muscle. 
He  felt  his  blood  bounding  in  fiery 
streams  through  his  veins.  With  a 
merry  laugh  and  sparkling  eye  he  de- 
clared that  no  man  could  be  imj^ris- 
oned  during  his  whole  hfe  who  felt 
himself  strong  enough  to  achieve  his 
freedom. 

"  I  have  strength  and  endurance  like 
Atlas,  I  can  bear  the  world  on  my 
shoulders,  and  shall  I  never  be  able  to 
burst  these  doors  and  gates,  to  sur- 
mount these  miserable   fortress   walla 


192 


BERLIN   AND    SANS-SOUCI  ;    OR, 


which  separate  tne  from  liberty,  tlie 
world  of  action,  the  golden  sunshine  ? 
No,  no,  before  the  close  of  this  year,  I 
shall  be  free.  Yes,  free  !  free  to  fly  to 
her  anr]  give  her  back  this  letter,  and 
ask  her  if  she  did  truly  write  it  ?  If 
these  cold  words  came  from  her  heart? 
No,  some  one  has  dared  to  imitate  her 
writing,  and  thus  deprive  me  of  the 
only  ray  of  sunshine  which  enters  my 
dark  prison.  I  must  be  free  in  order  to 
know  this.  I  will  believe  in  nothing 
which  I  do  not  see  written  in  her  beau- 
tiful face ;  only  when  her  lips  speak 
these  fearful  words,  will  I  believe 
them.  I  must  be  free,  and  until  then  I 
must  forget  all  other  things,  even  this 
terrible  letter.  My  thoughts,  my  eyes, 
my  heart,  my  soul,  must  have  but  one 
aim — my  liberty  !  " 

Alas !  the  year  drew  near  its  close, 
and  the  goal  was  not  reached  ;  indeed, 
the  difficulties  were  greatly  increased. 
The  commandant.  Von  Fouquet,  had 
just  received  stern  orders  from  Berlin ; 
the  watch  had  been  doubled,  and  the 
officers  in  the  citadel  had  been  per- 
emptorily forbidden  to  enter  the  cell 
of  the  prisoner,  or  in  any  way  to  show 
him  kindness  or  attention. 

The  officers  loved  the  young  and 
cheerful  prisoner;  by  his  fresh  and 
hopeful  spirit,  his  gay  laugh  and  merry 
jest,  he  had  broken  up  the  everlasting 
monotony  of  their  garrison-life;  by  his 
powerful  intellect  and  rich  fancy  he 
had,  in  some  degree,  dissipated  their 
weariness  and  stupidity.  They  felt 
pity  for  his  youth,  his  beauty,  his  geni- 
ality, his  energetic  self-confidence ;  his 
bold  courage  imposed  upon  them,  and 
they  were  watching  curiously  and  anx- 
iously to  see  the  fmale  of  this  contest 
between  the  poor,  powerless,  imprisoned 
youth,  and  the  haughty,  stern  com- 
mandant, who  had  sworn  to  Treuck 
that  he  should  not  succeed  in  making 
even  an  attempt  at  escape,  to  which 
Trcnek  had  laughingly  replied  : 


"  I  will  not  only  make  an  attempt  to 
escape,  I  will  fly  in  defiance  of  all  guards, 
and  all  fortress  walls,  and  all  command- 
ants. I  inhale  already  the  breath  of 
liberty  which  is  wafted  through  my 
prison.  Do  you  not  see  how  the  God- 
dess of  Liberty,  with  her  enchanting 
smile,  stands  at  the  head  of  my  wretch- 
ed bed,  sings  her  sweet  evening  songs 
to  the  poor  prisoner,  and  wakes  him  in 
the  early  morning  with  the  sound  of 
trumpets  ?  Oh,  sir  commandant.  Lib- 
erty loves  me,  and  soon  will  she  take 
me  like  a  bride  in  her  fiiir  arms,  and 
bear  me  off  to  freedom  !  " 

The  commandant  had  doubled  the 
guard,  and  forbidden  the  officers,  under 
heavy  penalty,  to  have  any  intercourse 
with  Trenck.  Formerly,  the  officers 
who  had  kept  watch  over  Trenck,  had 
been  allowed  to  enter,  to  remain  and 
eat  with  him ;  now  the  door  was 
closed  against  them,  the  major  kept  the 
key,  and  Trenck's  food  was  handed 
him  through  the  window.  But  this 
window  was  large,  and  the  officer  on 
guard  could  put  his  head  in  and  chat 
awhile  with  the  prisoner.  The  major 
had  the  principal  key,  but  the  officer 
had  a  night-key,  and,  by  this  means, 
entered  often  in  the  evenings  and 
passed  a  few  hours  with  the  prisoner,  lis- 
tening with  astonishment  to  his  plans 
of  escape,  and  his  dreams  of  a  happy 
future. 

But  they  did  not  all  come  to  speak 
of  indifierent  things,  and  to  be  cheered 
and  brightened  by  his  gay  -  humor. 
There  were  some  who  truly  loved  him 
and  wished  to  give  him  counsel  and 
aid.  One  came  because  he  had  i^rom 
ised  his  beloved  mistress,  his  bride,  to 
liberate  Trenck,  cost  what  it  would. 
This  was  Lieutenant  Sehnell,  the  bride- 
groom of  Amelia's  maid  of  hf  mor.  One 
day,  thanks  to  the  night-key,  he  entered 
Trenck's  cell. 

*  Trenck's  Memoirs . 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


193 


*  I  will  stand  by  you,  and  assist  you 
to  escaj^e.  More  than  that,  I  will  fly 
with  you.  The  commandant,  Fouquet, 
hates  me — he  says  I  know  too  much 
for  an  officer;  that  I  do  not  confine 
myself  to  my  military  duties,  but  love 
books,  and  art,  and  science.  He  has 
often  railed  at  me,  and  I  have  twice 
demanded  my  dismissal,  which  he  re- 
fused, and  threatened  me  with  arrest 
if  I  should  again  demand  it.  Like 
yourself,  I  am  not  free,  and,  like  you,  I 
wish  to  fly  from  bondage.  And  now 
let  us  consult  together,  and  arrange  our 
plan  of  escape." 

"  Yes,"  said  Trenck,  with  a  glowing 
countenance,  and  embracing  his  new- 
found friend,  "  we  will  be  uncon- 
querable. Like  Briareus,  we  will  have 
a  hundred  arms  and  a  hundred 
heads.  When  two  young  and  pow- 
erful men  unite  their  wills,  nothing 
can  restrain  them — nothing  withstand 
them.  Let  us  make  our  arrange- 
ments." 

The  plan  of  escape  was  marked  out, 
and  was,  indeed,  ripe  for  action.  On 
the  last  day  of  the  year.  Lieutenant 
Schnell  was  to  be  Trenck's  night-guard, 
and  then  they  would  escape.  The 
dark  shadows  of  night  would  assist 
them.  Horses  were  already  engaged. 
There  was  gold  to  bribe  the  guard,  and 
there  were  loaded  pistols  for  those  who 
could  not  be  tempted.  Tliese  had 
been  already  smuggled  into  Trenck's 
cell,  and  concealed  in  the  ashes  of  the 
fireplace. 

And  now  it  was  Christmas  eve. 
This  was  a  grand  festal  day  even  for 
all  the  officers  of  the  citadel.  With  the 
exception  of  the  night-watch,  they 
were  all  invited  to  dine  with  the  com- 
mandant. A  day  of  joy  and  rejoicing 
to  all  but  the  poor  prisoner,  who  sat 
solitary  in  his  cdl,  and  recalled,  with  a 
sad  heart,  tlie  happy  days  of  his  child- 
hood. "  The  holy  evening  "  had  been 
vo  him  a  golden  book  of  promise,  and  a 

13 


munificent  cornucopia  of  happiness  and 
peace. 

The  door  of  his  cell  was  hastily 
opened,  and  Schnell  rushed  in. 

"  Comrade,  we  are  betrayed  !  "  said 
he  breathlessly.  "  Our  plan  of  flight 
has  been  discovered.  The  adjutant  of 
the  commandant  has  just  secretly  in- 
formed me  that  when  the  guard  is 
changed  I  am  to  be  arrested.  You 
see,  then,  we  are  lost,  unless  we 
adopt  some  rash  and  energetic  resolu- 
tion." 

"  We  will  fly  before  the  hour  of  your 
arrest,"  said  Trenck,  gayly. 

"  If  you  think  that  possible,  so  be 
it !  "  said  Schnell.  He  drew  a  sword 
from  under  his  mantle,  and  handed  it 
to  Trenck.  "  Swear  to  me  upon  this 
sword,  that  come  what  may,  you  will 
never  allow  me  to  fall  alive  into  the 
hands  of  my  enemies." 

"  I  swear  it,  so  truly  as  God  will  help 
me  !  And  now,  Schnell,  take  the  same 
oath." 

"  I  swear  it !  And  now  friend,  one 
last  grasp  of  the  hand,  and  then  for- 
ward. May  God  be  with  us!  Hide 
your  sword  under  your  coat.  Let  us 
assume  an  indifferent  and  careless  ex- 
pression— come !  " 

Arm  in  arm,  the  two  young  men  left 
the  prison  door.  They  appeared  calm 
and  cheerful ;  each  one  kept  a  hand  in 
his  bosom,  and  this  hand  held  a  loaded 
pistol. 

The  guard  saluted  the  officer  of  the 
night-watch,  who  passed  by  him  in  full 
uniform.  In  passing,  he  said  quietly : 
"  I  am  conducting  the  prisoner  to  the 
officers'  room.  Remam  here  —  I  will 
return  quickly." 

Slowly,  quietly,  they  passed  down 
the  whole  lengtli  of  the  corridor ;  they 
reached  the  officers'  room,  and  opened 
the  door.  The  guard  walked  with 
measured  step  slowly  before  the  open 
door  of  Trenck's  cell,  suspecting  noth- 
ing.   The  door  closed  behind  the  fugi 


194 


BERLIN   AND   SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


lives — tlie  first  etep  toward  liberty  was 
taken. 

"And  now,  quickly  onward  to  the 
side  door.  When  we  have  passed  the 
sentry-box,  we  will  be  at  the  outer 
works.  We  must  spring  over  the  pal- 
isades, and  woe  to  the  obstacle  that  lies 
in  our  path  ! — advance  !  forward  !  " 

They  reached  the  wall,  they  greeted 
fair  Freedom  with  golden  smiles,  but 
turning  a  corner,  they  stood  suddenly 
before  the  major  and  his  adjutant ! 

A  cry  of  hori-or  burst  from  Schnell's 
lips.  With  one  bold  leap,  he  sprang 
upon  the  breastworks,  and  jumped  be- 
low. With  a  wild  shout  of  joy  Trenck 
followed  him.  His  soul  bounded  with 
rapture  and  gladness.  He  has  mounted 
the  wall,  and  what  he  finds  below  will 
be  liberty  in  death,  or  liberty  in  life. 

He  lives !  He  stretches  himself  after 
this  wondrous  leap,  and  he  is  not  in- 
jured— ^he  recovers  sti'ength  and  pres- 
ence of  mind  quickly. 

But  where  is  his  friend  ?  where  is 
Schnell  ?  There — there  ;  he  lies  upon 
the  ground,  with  a  dislocated  ankle, 
impossible  to  stand  —  impossible  to 
move. 

"Remember  your  oath,  friend — ^kill 
me  !  I  can  go  no  farther.  Here  is  my 
Bword — thrust  it  into  my  bosom,  and 
fly  for  your  life  1 " 

Trenck  laughed  gayly,  took  him  in 
his  arms  as  lovingly  and  tenderly  as  a 
mother.  "  Swing  yourself  on  my  back, 
friend,  and  clasp  your  arms  about  my 
neck,  and  hold  fast.  We  will  run  a 
race  with  the  reindeer." 

"  Trenck  !  Trenck  I  kill  me.  Leave 
me  here,  and  hasten  on.  Escajje  is  im- 
possible with  such  a  burden." 

"  You  are  as  light  as  a  feather,  and  I 
will  die  with  you  rather  than  leave 
you." 

Onward !  onward  !  the  sun  sets  and  a 
heavy  fog  rises  suddenly  from  out  of 
the  earth. 

"Trenck,  Trenck,  do  you  not  hear 


the  alarm-guns  thundering  from  the 
citadel  ?     Our  pursuers  are  after  us." 

"  I  hear  the  cannon,"  said  Trenck, 
hastening  on.  "  We  have  a  half  hour's 
start." 

"  A  half  hour  will  not  suffice.  No 
one  has  ever  escaped  from  Glatz  who 
did  not  have  two  hours'  advance  of  pur- 
suit. Leave  me,  Trenck,  and  save  your- 
self." 

"  I  will  not  leave  you.  I  would  rather 
die  with  you.  Let  us  rest  a  moment, 
and  gather  breath." 

Gently,  carefully,  he  laid  his  friend 
upon  the  ground.  Schnell  suppressed 
his  cries  of  pain,  and  Trenck  restrained 
his  panting  breath — they  rested  and 
listened.  The  white,  soft  mist  settled 
more  thickly  around  them.  The  citadel 
and  the  town  were  entirely  hidden  from 
view. 

"  God  is  with  us,"  said  Trenck.  "  He 
covers  us  with  an  impenetral)le  veil,  and 
conceals  us  from  our  enemies." 

"  God  is  against  us — our  flight  was 
too  soon  discovered.  Already  the  whole 
border  is  alarmed.  Listen  to  the  sig- 
nals in  every  village.  The  three  shots 
from  the  citadel  have  announced  that  a 
prisoner  has  escaped.  The  command- 
ing officers  are  now  flying  from  point 
to  point,  to  see  if  the  peasants  are  do- 
ing duty,  and  if  every  post  is  strictly 
guarded.  The  cordon  is  alarmed ;  the 
whole  Bohemian  boundary  has  been 
signalled.  It  is  too  late — we  cannot 
reach  the  border." 

"  We  will  not  go  then,  friend,  in  the 
direction  our  enemies  expect  us,"  said 
Trenck,  merrily.  "  They  saw  us  run- 
ning toward  the  Bohemian  boundary, 
and  they  will  follow  in  that  direction 
through  night  and  fog.  We  will  fly 
where  they  are  not  seeking  us — we  will 
cross  the  Reise.  Do  you  see  thei*e  a  line 
of  silver  shimmering  through  the  fog, 
and  advancing  to  meet  us  ?  Spring 
upon  my  back,  Schnell.  We  must  cross 
the  Reise  1 " 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


195 


"I  cannot,  Trenck, — ^I  suffer  agony 
fvitli  my  foot.  It  is  impossible  for  me 
to  swim.'' 

"  I  can  swim  for  both." 

He  knelt  down,  took  his  friend  upon 
his  back,  and  ran  with  him  to  the  river. 
And  now  they  stood  upon  the  shore. 
Solemnly,  drearily,  the  waves  dashed 
over  their  feet,  sweeping  onward  large 
blocks  of  ice  which  obstructed  the  cur- 
rent. 

''  Is  the  river  deep,  comrade  ?  " 

"In  the  middle  of  the  stream,  deep 
enough  to  cover  a  giant  like  yourself." 

"  Onward,  then  !  When  I  can  no 
longer  walk,  I  can  swim.  Hold  fast, 
Schnell ! " 

Onward,  in  the  dark,  ice-cold  water, 
bravely  onward,  with  his  friend  upon 
his  back  !  Higher  and  higher  rose  the 
■waves !  Now  they  reached  his  shoulder  I 

"  Hold  fast  to  my  hair,  Schnell,  we 
must  swim ! " 

With  herculean  strength  he  swam 
through  the  dark,  wild  waters,  and 
dashed  the  ice-blocks  which  rushed 
against  him  from  his  path. 

Now  they  reached  the  other  shore. 
Not  yet  safe — but  safe  from  immediate 
danger.  The  blessed  night  conceals 
their  course,  and  their  pursuers  seek 
them  on  the  other  shore. 

Suddenly  the  fog  is  dispersed ;  a 
rough,  bleak  wind  freezes  the  moisture 
in  the  atmosphere,  and  the  moon  rises 
in  cloudless  majesty  in  the  heavens.  It 
was  a  cold,  clear  December  night,  and 
the  wet  clothes  of  the  fugitives  were 
frozen  stiff,  like  a  harness,  upon  them. 
Trenck  felt  neither  cold  nor  stiff;  he 
carried  his  friend  upon  his  shoulders, 
and  that  kept  him  warm ;  he  walked 
60  rapidly,  his  limbs  could  not  stiffen. 

Onward,  ever  onward  to  the  moun- 
tains !  They  reached  the  first  hill,  under 
whose  protecting  shadows  they  sank 
down  to  rest,  and  took  counsel  together. 

*'  Trenck,  I  suffer  great  agony  ;  I  im- 
plore you  to  leave  me  here  and  save 


yourself.  In  a  few  hours  you  can  pass 
the  border.  Leave  me,  then,  and  save 
yourself ! " 

''  I  will  never  desert  a  friend  in  ne- 
cessity.    Come,  I  am  refreshed." 

He  took  up  his  comrade  and  pressed 
on.  The  moon  had  concealed  herself 
behind  the  clouds ;  the  cold,  cutting 
winds  howled  through  the  mountains. 
Stooping,  Trenck  waded  on  through 
the  snow.  He  was  scarcely  able  now 
to  hold  himself  erect.  Hope  inspired 
him  with  strength  and  courage — they 
had  wandered  far,  they  must  soon 
reach  the  border. 

Day  broke  !  the  pale  rays  of  the  De- 
cember sun  melted  the  mountain  vapors 
into  morning.  The  two  comrades  were 
encamped  upon  the  snow,  exhausted 
with  their  long  march,  hopefully  peer- 
ing here  and  there  after  the  Bohemian 
boundary. 

"  Great  God  !  what  is  that  ?  Are  not 
those  the  towers  of  Glatz?  and  that 
dark  spectre  which  raises  itself  so 
threateningly  against  the  horizon,  is  not 
that  the  citadel?'* 

And  so  it  was.  The  pot>r  fugitives 
have  wandered  round  and  round  the 
whole  night  through,  and  they  are  now, 
alas,  exactly  where  they  started. 

"We  are  lost,"  murmured  Schnell; 
"  there  is  no  hope !  " 

"No,  we  are  not  lost!"  shouted 
Trenck ;  "  wehave  young,  healthy  limbs, 
and  weapons.  They  shall  never  take 
us  alive." 

"  But  we  cannot  escape  them.  Our 
appearance  will  instantly  beti*ay  us;  I 
am  in  full  uniform,  and  you  in  your 
red  coat  of  the  body-guard,  both  of  us 
without  hats.  Any  man  would  know 
we  were  deserters." 

"  Woe  to  him  w^ho  calls  us  so  !  we 
will  slay  him,  and  walk  over  his  dead 
body.  And  now  for  some  desperate 
resolve.  We  cannot  go  backward,  we 
must  advance,  and  pass  right  through 
the  midst  of  our  em-mies  in  order  to 


4 


196 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


reach  the  border.  You  know  the  way, 
and  the  whole  region  round  about. 
Come,  Schnell,  let  us  hold  a  council  of 
war." 

"  We  must  pass  through  that  village 
hi  front  of  us.  How  shall  we  attempt 
to  do  so  unchallenged  ? " 

Half  an  hour  later  a  singular  couple 
drew  near  to  the  last  house  of  the  vil- 
lage. One  was  a  severely  wounded, 
bleeding  officer  of  the  king's  body- 
guard ;  his  face  was  covered  with  blood, 
a  bloody  handkerchief  was  bound  about 
his  brow,  and  his  hands  tied  behind  his 
back.  Following  him,  limped  an  officer 
in  full  parade  dress,  but  bareheaded. 
With  rude,  coarse  words  he  drove  the 
poor  prisoner  before  him,  and  cried 
for  help.  Immediately  two  peasants 
rushed  from  the  house. 

"  Kun  to  the  village,"  said  the  officer, 
*'  and  tell  the  judge  to  have  a  carriage 
got  ready  immediately,  that  I  may  take 
this  deserter  to  the  fortress.  I  succeeded 
in  capturing  him,  but  he  shot  my  horse, 
and  I  fear  I  broke  a  bone  in  falling ; 
you  see,  though,  how  I  have  cut  him  to 
pieces,  I  think  he  is  mortally  wounded. 
Bring  a  carriage  instantly,  that  I  may 
take  him,  while  yet  alive,  to  the  cita- 
del." 

One  of  the  men  started  at  once,  the 
other  nodded  to  them  to  enter  his  hut. 

Stumbling  and  stammering  out  words 
of  pain,  the  wounded  man  followed 
him ;  cursing  and  railing,  the  officer 
limped  behind  him.  On  entering  the 
room,  the  wounded  man  sank  upon  the 
floor,  groaning  aloud.  A  young  girl 
advanced  hastily,  and  took  his  wounded 
head  in  her  arms ;  while  an  old  woman, 
who  stood  upon  the  hearth,  brought  a 
vessel  of  warm  milk  to  comfort  him. 

The  old  peasant  stood  at  the  window, 
and  looked,  with  a  peculiar  smile,  at 
the  officer,  who  seated  himself  upon  a 
bench  near  the  fire,  and  drank  the  milk 
greedily  which  the  old  woman  handed 
him.    Suddenly  the  old  man  advanced 


in  front  of  the  officer  and  laid  his  hand 
on  his  shoulder. 

"  Your  disguise  is  not  necessary. 
Lieutenant  Schnell,  I  know  you ;  my 
son  served  in  your  company.  There 
was  an  officer  from  the  citadel  here 
last  night,  and  informed  us  of  the  two 
deserters.  You  are  one,  Lieutenant 
Schnell,  and  that  is  the  other.  That  is 
Baron  Trenck." 

And  now,  the  wounded  man,  as  if 
cured  by  magic,  sprang  to  his  feet.  The 
sound  of  his  name  had  given  him  health 
and  strength,  and  healed  the  wounds  in 
his  forehead.  He  threw  the  handker- 
chief oflF,  and  rushed  out,  while  Schnell 
with  prayers  and  threats  held  back  the 
old  man,  and  entreated  him  to  show 
them  the  nearest  way  to  the  border. 

Trenck  hastened  to  the  stable — two 
horses  were  in  the  stalls.  The  young 
girl,  who  held  his  head  so  tenderly 
came  up  behind  him. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  sir  ?  "  she  said 
anxiously,  as  Trenck  released  the  horses. 
"  You  will  not  surely  take  my  father's 
horses  ? — if  you  do,  I  will  cry  aloud  for 
help." 

"  If  you  dare  to  cry  aloud,  I  will 
murder  you,''  said  Trenck,  with  flaming 
eyes,  "  and  then  I  wiU  kill  myself !  I 
have  sworn  that  I  will  not  be  taken 
alive  into  the  fortress.  Have  pity, 
beautiful  child — your  eyes  are  soft  and 
kindly,  and  betray  a  tender  heart. 
Help  me — think  how  beautiful,  how 
glorious  is  the  world  and  life  and  liberty 
to  the  young  I  My  enemies  will  deprive 
me  of  all  this,  and  chain  me  in  a  cell, 
like  a  wild  beast.  Oh,  help  me  to  es- 
cape ! " 

"  How  can  I  help  you  ? "  said  Marian- 
del,  greatly  touched. 

"  Give  me  saddles  and  bridles  for 
these  horses,  in  order  that  I  may  flee. 
I  swear  to  you,  by  God  and  by  my  be- 
loved, that  they  shall  be  returned  to 
you ! " 

"  You  have  then  a  sweetheart,  sir  ?  '* 


"  That  is  Baron  Trenck.' 


■ik 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


197 


"  I  have — and  she  weeps  day  and 
night  for  me." 

"  I  ■will  give  you  the  saddles  in  re- 
membrance of  my  own  beloved,  who  is 
far  away  from  me.  Come,  saddle  your 
horse  quickly — I  will  saddle  the  other." 

"  Now,  farewell,  Mariandel — one  kiss 
at  parting  —  farewell,  compassionate 
child! — Schnell,  Schnell,  quick,  quick 
to  horse,  to  horse  ! " 

Schnell  rushed  out  of  the  hut,  the 
peasant  after  him.  He  saw  with  hor- 
ror that  his  horses  were  saddled ;  that 
Schnell,  in  spite  of  his  foot,  had  mounted 
one,  and  Trenck  was  seated  upon  the 
other. 

"  My  God !  will  you  steal  my 
horses  ?    Help  !  help  ! " 

Mariandel  laid  her  hand  upon  her 
father's  lips,  and  suppressed  his  cries 
for  help.  "Father,  he  has  a  bride,  and 
she  weeps  for  him  ! — think  upon  Jo- 
seph, and  let  them  go." 

The  fugitives  dashed  away.  Their 
long  hair  fluttered  in  the  wind,  their 
cheeks  glowed  with  excitement  and 
expectation.  Already  the  village  lay 
far  behind  them.  Onward,  over  the 
plains,  over  the  meadows,  over  the 
stubble-fields ! 

"Schnell,  Schnell,  I  see  houses — I 
see  towns.     Schnell,  there  lies  a  city  t  " 

"That  is  Wunschelburg,  and  we 
must  ride  directly  through  it,  for  this 
is  the  nearest  way  to  Bohemia." 

"There  is  a  garrison  there,  but  we 
must  ride  through  them.  Aha !  this  is 
royal  sport !  We  will  dash  right 
through  the  circle  of  our  enemies. 
They  will  be  so  amazed  at  our  inso- 
lence, that  they  will  allow  us  to  es- 
cape. Hei !  here  are  the  gates — the 
bells  are  ringing  for  church.  Onward, 
onward,  my  gallant  steed,  you  must  fly 
as  if  you  had  wings  ! " 

Huzza! — how  the  flints  strike  fire! 
how  the  horses'  hoofs  resound  on  the 
pavement !  how  the  gayly  -  dressed 
church-goers,  who  were  advancing  so 


worthily  up  the  street,  fly  screaming  to 
every  side !  how  the  lazy  hussars, 
thinking  no  harm,  stand  at  the  house 
doors,  and  fix  their  eyes  with  horror 
upon  these  two  bold  riders,  who  dash 
past  them  like  a  storm- wind  ! 

And  now  they  have  reached  the 
outer  gate — the  city  lies  behind  them. 
Forward,  forward,  in  mad  haste !  Tlie 
horses  bow,  their  knees  give  way,  but 
the  bold  riders  rein  them  up  with  pow- 
erful arms,  and  they  spring  onward. 

Onward,  still  onward  !  "  But  what 
is  that  ?  who  is  this  advancing  di- 
rectly in  front  of  us  ?  Schnell,  do  you 
not  know  him  ?  Tliat  is  Captain 
Zerbtz ! " 

Yes,  that  is  Captain  Zerbtz,  who  has 
been  sent  with  his  hussars  to  arrest  the 
fugitives ;  but  he  is  alone,  and  his  men 
are  not  in  sight.  He  rode  on  just  in 
front  of  them.  When  near  enough  to 
be  heard,  he  said,  "  Brothers,  hasten ! 
Go  to  the  left,  pass  that  solitary  house. 
That  is  the  boundary-line.*  My  hus- 
sars have  gone  to  the  right." 

He  turned  his  horse  quickly,  and 
dashed  away.  The  fugitives  flew  to 
the  left,  passed  the  lonely  house, 
passed  the  white  stone  which  marked 
the  border,  and  now  just  a  little  farther 
on. 

"  Oh,  comrade,  let  our  horses  breathe ! 
Let  us  rest  and  thank  God,  for  we  are 
saved — we  have  passed  the  border  !  " 

''  We  are  free,  free  !  "  cried  Trenck, 
with  so  loud  a  shout  of  joy  that  the 
mountains  echoed  with  the  happy 
sound,  and  reechoed  back,  "Free, 
free ! " 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

I    WELL. 

Swiftly,  noiselessly,  and  unheeded 
the  days  of  prosperity  and  peace  pass 

♦  Trenck'g  Memoirs. 


198 


BERLIN   AND    SANS-SOUCI  ;    OR, 


away.  King  Frederick  has  been 
happy :  lie  does  not  even  remember 
that  more  than  two  years  of  calm  con- 
tent and  enjoyment  have  been  granted 
him — two  years  in  which  he  dared  lay 
aside  his  sword,  and  rest  quietly  upon 
his  laurels.  This  happy  season  had 
been  rich  in  blessings;  bringing  its 
laughing  tribute  of  perfumed  roses  and 
blooming  myrtles.  Two  years  of  such 
happiness  seem  almost  mii'aculous  in 
the  life  of  a  king. 

Our  happy  days  are  ever  uneventful. 
True  love  is  silent  and  retiring ;  it  does 
not  speak  its  rapture  to  the  profane 
world,  but  hides  itself  in  the  shadows 
of  holy  solitude  and  starry  night.  Let 
us  not,  then,  lift  the  veil  with  which 
King  Frederick  had  concealed  his 
love.  These  two  years  of  bloom 
and  fragrance  shall  pass  by  unques- 
tioned. 

When  the  svm  is  most  lustrous,  we 
luni  away  our  eyes,  lest  they  be  blinded 
by  his  rays ;  but  when  clouds  and 
darkness  are  around  about  us,  we  look 
up  curiously  and  questioningly.  King 
Frederick's  sun  is  no  longer  clear  and 
dazzling,  dark  clouds  are  passing  over 
it;  a  shadow  from  these  clouds  has 
fallen  upon  the  young  and  handsome 
face  of  the  king,  quenched  the  flashing 
glance  of  his  eye,  and  checked  the  rapid 
beating  of  his  heart. 

What  was  it  which  made  King 
Frederick  so  restless  and  unhapjoy  ? 
He  did  not  know  himself,  or,  rather,  he 
would  not  know.  An  Alp  seemed 
lesting  upon  his  heart,  repressing  every 
joyful  emotion,  and  making  exertion 
impossible.  He  sought  distraction  in 
work,  and  in  the  early  morning  he 
culled  his  ministers  to  council,  but  his 
thoughts  were  far  away ;  he  listened 
witliout  hearing,  and  the  most  impor- 
tant statements  seemed  to  him  trivial. 
He  mistrusted  himself,  and  dismissed 
his  ministers.  It  was  Frederick's  cus- 
tom to  read  every  letter  and  petition 


himself,  and  write  his  answei  uiwn  the 
margin.  This  being  done,  he  turned 
to  his  ordinary  studies  and  occupations, 
and  commenced  writing  in  his  "Ifis- 
toire  de  mon  Temps.''''  Soon,  however, 
he  found  himself  gazing  upon  the 
paper,  lost  in  wandering  thoughts  and 
wild,  fantastic  dreams.  He  threw  his 
pen  aside,  and  tried  to  lose  himself  in 
the  beautiful  creations  of  his  favorite 
poet ;  all  things  in  nature  and  fiction 
seemed  alike  vain. 

Frederick  threw  his  book  aside  in 
despair.  "  What  is  the  matter  wiia 
me?"  he  exclaimed  angrily.  "I  am 
not  myself;  some  wicked  fairy  has 
cast  a  spell  about  me,  and  bound  my 
soul  in  magic  fetters.  I  cannot  work, 
I  cannot  think ;  content  and  quiet 
peace  are  banished  from  my  breast ! 
What  does  this  signify  ?  and  why — " 
He  did  not  complete  his  sentence,  but 
gazed  with  breathless  attention  to  the 
door.  He  liad  heard  one  tone  of  a 
voice  without  which  made  his  heart 
tremble  and  his  eyes  glow  with  their 
wonted  fire. 

"Announce  to  his  majesty  that  I  am 
here,  and  plead  importunately  for  an 
audience,"  said  a  soft,  sweet  voice. 

"  The  king  has  comnianded  that  no 
one  shall  be  admitted." 

"  Announce  me,  nevertheless,"  said 
the  petitioner  imperiously. 

"  That  is  impossible  !  " 

Frederick  had  heard  enough.  He 
stepped  to  the  door  and  threw  it  open. 
"  Signora,  I  am  ready  to  receive  you ; 
have  the  goodness  to  enter."  He 
stepped  abruptly  forward,  and,  giving 
his  hand  to  Barbarina,  led  her  into  his 
cabinet. 

Barbarina  greeted  him  with  a  sweet 
smile,  and  gave  a  glance  of  triumph  to 
the  guard,  who  had  dared  to  refuse  her 
entrance. 

The  king  conducted  her  silently  to 
his  boudoir,  and  nodded  to  her  to  seat 
herself  upon  the  divan.      But    Barba- 


IREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


199 


rina  remained  standing,  and  fixed  her 
great  burning  eyes  upon  his  face. 

"  I  see  a  cloud  upon  your  brow, 
sire,"  said  she,  in  a  fond  and  flattering 
tone.  "  What  poor  insect  has  dared  to 
vex  my  royal  lion  ?  "Was  it  an  insect  ? 
Was  it—" 

'"No,  no,"  said  Frederick,  interrupt- 
ing her,  "  an  angel  or  a  devil  has  tor- 
tured me,  and  banished  joy  and  peace 
from  my  heart.  Now  tell  me,  Barba- 
rina,  what  are  you  ?  Are  you  a  demon 
come  to  martyr  me,  or  an  angel  of 
light,  who  will  transform  my  wild 
dreams  of  love  and  bliss  into  reality  ? 
There  are  hours  of  rapture  in  which  I 
believe  the  latter,  in  which  your  glance 
of  light  and  glory  wafts  my  soul  on 
golden  wings  into  the  heaven  of  heav- 
ens, and  I  say  to  myself,  '  I  am  not  only 
a  king,  but  a  god,  for  I  have  an  angel 
by  my  side  to  minister  to  me.'  But 
then,  alas  !  come  weary  times  in  which 
you  seem  to  me  an  evil  demon,  and  I 
see  in  your  flashing  eyes  that  eternal 
hatred  which  you  swore  to  cherish  in 
the  first  hour  of  our  meeting." 

"  Alas !  does  your  majesty  still  re- 
member that  ? "  said  Barbarina,  in  a  tone 
of  tender  reproof 

"You  have  taken  care  that  I  shall 
not  forget  it.  You  once  told  me  that 
from  hatred  to  love  was  but  a  small 
step.  K  you  have  truly  advanced  so 
far,  how  can  I  be  assured  but  you 
will  one  day  step  backward  ? " 

"  How  can  you  be  assured  ? "  said 
she,  pointing  a  rosy  finger  with  inde- 
scribable grace  at  the  king.  "Ah, 
sire!  your  divine  beauty,  your  eyes, 
which  have  borrowed  lightning  from 
jove  and  glory  from  the  sun  —  your 
brow,  where  majesty  and  wisdom  sit 
enthroned,  and  that  youthful  and  en- 
chanting smile  which  illuminates  the 
whole  —  all  these  make  assurance 
doubly  sure  !  I  will  not  allude  to  your 
throne,  and  its  pomp  and  power! 
What  is  it  to  me  that  you  are  a  king  ? 


For  me  you  are  a  man,  a  hero,  a  god. 
Had  I  met  you  as  a  shepherd  in  the 
fields,  I  should  have  said,  '  There  is  a 
god  in  disguise  1 '  The  fable  is  veri- 
fied, and  'Apollo  is  before  me!' 
Apollo,  I  adore,  I  worship  you  !  let  one 
ray  from  your  heavenly  eyes  fall  upon 
my  face  ! "  She  knelt  before  him,  fold- 
ing her  hands,  extended  them  plead- 
ingly toward  the  king,  and  looked  upon 
him  with  a  ravishing  smile. 

The  king  raised  her,  and  pressed  her 
in  his  arms,  then  took  her  small  head 
in  his  hands,  and  turning  it  backward, 
gazed  searchingly  in  her  face. 

"  Oh !  Barbarina,"  said  he,  sadly, 
"  to-day  you  are  an  angel,  why  were 
you  a  demon  yesterday  ?  Why  did 
you  martyr  and  torture  me  with  your 
childish  moods  and  passionate  temper  ? 
Why  is  your  heart,  which  can  be  so 
soft  and  warm,  sometimes  cold  as  an 
iceberg  and  wholly  pitiless !  Child ! 
child !  do  you  not  know  I  have  been 
wounded  by  many  griefs,  and  that 
every  rough  word  and  every  angry 
glance  is  like  a  poisoned  dagger  to  my 
soul  ?  I  had  looked  forward  with  such 
delight  to  our  meeting  yesterday  at 
Rothenberg's !  I  expected  so  much 
happiness,  and  I  had  earned  it  by  a 
diligent  and  weary  day's  work.  Alas! 
you  spoiled  all  by  your  frowning  brow 
and  sullen  silence.  It  was  your  fault 
that  I  returned  home  sad  and  heartless. 
I  could  not  sleep,  but  passed  the  night 
in  trying  to  find  out  the  cause  of  your 
melancholy.  This  morning  I  could  not 
work,  and  have  robbed  my  kingdom  and 
my  people  of  the  hours  which  prop- 
erly belong  to  them ;  weak  and  power- 
less, I  have  been  swayed  wholly  by 
gloom  and  discontent.  What  was  it, 
Barbarina,  which  veiled  your  clear 
brow  with  frowns,  and  made  your  sweet 
voice  so  harsh  and  stern  ?  " 

"  What  was  it  ? "  said  Barbarina, 
sadly ;  and,  resting  on  the  arm  of  the 
kinff,  she  leaned  her  head  back   and 


200 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


looked  up  at  liim  with  half-closed  eyes. 
''ItM-as  ambition  which  tortured  me. 
But  I  did  Avrong  to  conceal  any  thing 
from  you.  I  should,  without  sullen  or  an- 
gry looks,  have  made  known  the  cause 
of  my  despair.  I  should  have  felt  that 
I  had  only  to  breathe  my  request,  and 
that  the  noble  and  magnanimous  heart 
of  my  king  would  understand  me.  I 
should  have  known  that  the  man  who 
had  won  laurels  in  the  broad  fields  of 
science  and  on  the  bloody  battle-field, 
would  appreciate  this  thirst  for  renown ; 
this  glowing,  burning  hate  toward 
those  who  cross  our  paths  and  wish  to 
share  our  fame  !  " 

"  Jealous  ?  you  are  jealous,  then,  of 
some  other  artiste,^''  said  the  king,  releas- 
ing Barbarina  from  his  arms. 

"  Yes,  sire,  I  am  jealous  I — jealous  of 
your  smiles,  of  your  applause ;  of  the 
public  voice,  of  the  bravos,  which  like 
a  golden  shower  have  fallen  upon  me 
alone,  and  which  I  must  now  divide 
with  another ! " 

"  Of  whom,  then,  are  you  jealous  ?  " 
said  the  king. 

She  threw  her  head  back  proudly,  a 
crimson  blush  blazed  upon  her  cheeks, 
and  her  eyes  sparkled  angrily. 

''  Why  has  this  Marianna  Cochois 
been  engaged  ?  Why  has  Baron  von 
Swartz  put  this  contempt  upon  me  ? " 
said  she,  fiercely.  "  To  engage  another 
artiste  is  to  say  to  the  world,  that  Bar- 
barina no  longer  pleases,  that  she  no 
longer  has  the  power  to  enrapture  the 
public,  that  her  triumphs  are  over,  and 
her  day  is  past !  Oh !  this  thought  has 
made  me  wild !  Is  not  Barbarina  the 
first  dancer  of  the  world  ?  Can  it  be 
that  another  prima  donna,  and  not  the 
Barbarina,  is  engaged  for  the  principal 
r6le  in  a  new  and  splendid  ballet  ? 
Does  Barbarina  live,  and  has  she  not 
murdered  the  one  who  dared  to  do  this, 
to  bring  this  humiliation  upon  her  ?  " 

Tears  guslied  from  her  eyes,  and  sob- 
bing loudly,  she  hid  her  face  in  her 


hands.  The  king  gazed  sadly  upon 
her,  and  a  weary  smile  played  upon  his 
lip. 

"You  are  all  alike — all,"  said  he, 
bitterly,  "  and  the  great  artiste  is  even 
as  narrow-minded  and  pitiful  as  the 
unknown  and  humble ;  you  are  all  weak, 
vain,  envious,  and  swayed  by  small  pas- 
sions ;  and  to  think  that  you,  Barbarina, 
are  not  an  exception ;  that  the  Barbarina 
weeps  because  Marianna  Cochois  is  to 
play  principal  role  in  the  new  ballet, 
'  Toste  OalantV  " 

"  She  shall  not,  she  dare  not,"  cried 
Barbarina ;  "  I  will  not  suffer  this  hu- 
miliation ;  I  will  not  be  disgraced,  dis- 
honored, in  Berlin ;  I  will  not  sit  un- 
noticed in  a  loge,  and  listen  to  the  bravos 
and  plaudits  awarded  to  another  artiste 
which  belong  to  me  alone  1  Oh,  sire, 
do  not  allow  this  shame  to  be  put  upon 
me  I  Command  that  this  part,  which 
is  mine,  which  belongs  to  me  by  right 
of  the  world-wide  fame  which  I  have 
achieved,  be  given  to  me !  I  imjDlore 
your  majesty  to  take  this  role  from  the 
Cochois,  and  restore  it  to  me." 

"  That  is  imjwssible,  Barbarina.  Tlie 
Cochois,  like  every  other  artiste,  must 
have  her  debut.  Baron  Swartz  has  given 
her  the  principal  part  in'  Toste  Galanti,^ 
and  I  cannot  blame  him." 

"  Oh  !  your  majesty,  I  beseech  you  to 
listen.  Is  it  not  true — will  you  not 
bear  witness  to  the  fact  that  Barbarina 
has  never  put  your  liberality  and  mag- 
nanimity to  the  test ;  that  she  has  never 
shown  herself  to  be  egotistical  or  mer- 
cenary ?  I  ask  nothing  from  my  king 
but  his  heart,  the  happiness  to  sit  at  his 
feet,  and  in  the  sunshine  of  his  eyes  to 
bathe  my  being  in  light  and  gladness. 
Sire,  you  have  often  complamed  that  I 
desired  and  wcmld  accept  nothing  from 
you  ;  that  diamonds  and  pearls  had 
no  attraction  for  me.  You  know  that 
not  the  lightest  shadow  of  selfishness 
has  fallen  up(m  my  love  1  Now,  then, 
I  have  a  request  to-day:  I  ask  some 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AXD   HIS  FRIENDS. 


201 


thing  from  my  king  which  is  more  pre- 
cious in  my  eyes  than  all  the  diamonds 
of  the  world.  Give  me  this  role;  that 
is,  allow  me  to  remain  in  the  undisturbed 
possession  of  my  fame."  She  bowed 
her  knee  once  more  before  the  king,  but 
this  time  he  did  not  raise  her  'n  his 
arms. 

"  Barbarina,"  said  he,  sadly  and 
thoughtfully,  "  put  away  from  you  this 
unworthy  and  pitiful  envy.  Cast  it  oflf 
as  you  do  the  tinsel  robes  and  rouge  of 
the  stage  with  which  you  conceal  your 
beauty.  Be  yourself  again.  The  noble, 
proud,  and  gi-eat-hearted  woman  who 
shines  without  the  aid  of  garish  orna- 
ment, who  is  ever  the  queen  of  grace 
and  beauty,  and  needs  not  the  borrowed 
and  false  purple  and  ermine  of  the  stage. 
Grant  graciously  to  the  Cochois  this 
small  glory,  you  who  are  everywhere 
and  always  a  queen  in  your  own  right ! " 

Barbarina  sprang  from  her  knees  with 
flashing  eyes.  "  Sire,"  said  she,  "  you 
refuse  my  request — my  first  request — 
you  will  not  order  that  this  part  shall 
be  given  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  cannot ;  it  would  be  unjust." 

"  And  so  I  must  suffer  this  deadly 
shame ;  must  see  another  play  the  part 
which  belongs  to-  me ;  another  made 
glad  by  the  proud  triumphs  which  are 
mine  and  should  remain  mine.  I  will 
not  suffer  this  !  I  swear  it  1  So  true 
as  my  name  is  Barbarina  I  will  have  no 
rival  near  me  !  I  wUl  not  be  condemned 
to  this  daily  renewed  struggle  after  the 
first  rank  as  an  artiste.  I  will  not  bear 
the  possibility  of  a  comparison  between 
myself  and  any  other  woman.  I  am 
and  I  will  remain  the  first,  yes,  I  will  1 " 

She  raised  herself  up  defiantly,  and 
her  burning  glance  fell  upon  the  face 
of  the  king,  but  he  met  it  firmly,  and 
if  the  bearing  of  Barbarma  was  proud 
and  commanding,  that  of  King  Fred- 
erick was  more  imposing. 

"  How  1"  said  he,  in  a  tone  so  harsh 
and  threatening  that  Barbarina,  in  spite 


of  her  scorn  and  passion,  felt  her  heart 
tremble  with  fear.  "  How  I  Is  there 
another  in  Prussia  who  dares  say,  '1 
will  ? '  Is  it  possible  that  a  voice  is 
raised  in  contradiction  to  the  expressed 
will  of  the  king?" 

Barbarina  turned  pale  and  trembled. 
The  countenance  of  Frederick  expressed 
what  she  had  never  seen  before.  It  waa 
harsh  and  cold,  and  a  cutting  irony 
spoke  in  his  glance  and  a  contemptuous 
smile  played  upon  his  lip. 

"  Mercy,  mercy  !  "  cried  she,  plead- 
ingly ;  "  have  pity  with  my  passion. 
Forget  this  inconsiderate  word  which 
scorn  and  despair  drew  from  me.  Oh  1 
sire,  do  not  look  upon  me  so  coldly,  un- 
less you  wish  that  I  should  sink  down 
and  die  at  your  feet ;  crush  me  not  in 
your  anger,  but  pardon  and  forget." 

With  her  lovely  face  bathed  in  tears 
and  her  arms  stretched  out  imploringly, 
she  drew  near  the  king,  but  he  stood  up 
erect  and  stepped  backward. 

''  Signora  Barbarina,  I  have  nothing 
to  forgive,  but  I  cannot  grant  your  re- 
quest. The  Cochois  keeps  her  role,  and 
it*  you  have  any  complaint  to  make, 
apply  to  your  chief.  Baron  Swartz; 
and  now,  signora,  farewell ;  the  audi- 
ence is  ended." 

He  bowed  his  head  lightly  and  turned 
away ;  but  Barbarina  uttered  one  wild 
cry,  sprang  after  him,  and  with  mad 
frenzy  she  clung  to  his  arm. 

"  Sire,  sire !  do  not  go,"  she  said, 
breathlessly ;  "  do  not  forsake  me  in 
your  rage.  My  God,  do  you  not  see 
that  I  suffer ;  that  I  shall  be  a  maniac 
if  you  desert  me  !  "  and,  gliding  to  hia 
feet,  she  clasped  his  knees  with  her 
beautiful  arms,  and  looked  uj)  at  him 
imploringly.  "  Oh,  my  king  and  my 
lord,  let  me  be  as  a  slave  at  your  feet ; 
do  not  spurn  me  from  you  ! " 

King  Frederick  did  not  reply;  he 
leaned  forward  and  looked  down  ui^on 
the  lovely  and  enchanting  woman  lying 
at  his  feet,  and  never,  perhaps,  had  her 


202 


BERLIN  AND  S.INS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


charms  appeared  so  intoxicating  as  at 
this  moment,  but  his  face  was  sad,  and 
his  eyes,  usually  so  clear  and  bright, 
were  veiled  in  tears.  There  was  a  pause. 
Barbarina  still  clung  to  his  knees,  and 
looked  up  besee<^hingly,  and  the  king 
regarded  her  with  an  expression  of  un- 
speakable melancholy;  his  great  soul 
seemed  to  speak  in  the  glance  which  he 
fixed  upon  lier.  It  was  eloquent  with 
love,  rapture,  and  grief.  Now  their 
eyes  met  and  seemed  immovably  fixed. 
In  the  midst  of  the  profound  silence 
nothing  was  heard  but  Barbarina's  sighs. 
She  knew  full  well  the  significancy  of 
tliis  moment.  She  felt  that  fate,  with 
its  menacing  and  unholy  shadow,  was 
hovering  over  her.  Suddenly  the  king 
roused  himself,  and  the  voice  which 
broke  the  solemn  silence  sounded  strange 
and  harsh  to  Barbarina. 

"Farewell,  Signora  Barbarina,"  said 
the  king. 

Barbarina's  arms  sank  down  power- 
less, and  a  sob  burst  from  her  lips.  The 
king  did  not  regard  it ;  he  did  not  look 
back.  With  a  fii'm  hand  he  opened  the 
door  which  led  into  his  chamber;  en- 
tered and  closed  it.  He  sank  upon  a 
chair,  and  gave  one  long  and  weary 
sigh.  A  profound  despair  was  written 
on  his  countenance,  and  had  Barbarina 
seen  him,  she  would  have  appreciated 
the  anguish  of  his  heart. 

She  lay  bathed  in  tears  before  the 
door,  and  cried  aloud :  "  He  has  for- 
saken me !  Oh,  my  God,  he  has  forsaken 
me ! "  This  fearful  and  terrible  thought 
maddened  her;  she  sprang  up  and 
shook  the  door  fiercely,  and  with  a  loud 
and  piteous  voice  she  prayed  for  en- 
trance. She  knew  not  herself  what 
words  of  love,  of  anguish,  of  despair, 
and  insulted  pride  burst  from  her  pallid 
lips.  One  moment  she  threatened 
fiercely,  then  pleaded  touchingly  for 
pardon ;  sometimes  her  voice  seemed 
full  of  tears — then  cold  and  command- 
ing.    The  king  stood  with  folded  arms. 


leaning  against  the  other  side  of  the 
door.  He  heard  these  paroxysms  of 
grief  and  rage,  and  every  word  fell  upon 
his  heart  as  the  song  of  the  siren  upon 
the  ear  of  Ulysses.  But  Frederick  was 
mighty  and  powerful;  he  needed  no 
ropes  or  wax  to  hold  him  back.  He 
had  the  strength  to  control  his  will,  and 
the  voice  of  wisdom,  the  warning  voice 
of  duty,  spoke  louder  than  the  siren's 
song. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  I  will  not,  I  dare 
not  allow  myself  to  be  again  seduced. 
All  this  must  come  to  an  end  !  I  have 
long  known  this,  ]:)ut  I  had  no  strength 
to  resist  temptation.  Have  I  not  solemn- 
ly sworn  to  have  but  one  aim  in  life — 
to  place  the  good  of  my  people  far  above 
my  own  personal  happiness  ?  If  the 
man  and  the  king  strive  within  me  for 
mastery,  the  king  must  triumph  above 
all  other  things.  I  must  consider  the 
holy  duties  which  my  crown  lays  upon 
me ;  my  time,  my  thoughts,  my  strength, 
belong  to  my  people,  ray  land.  I  have 
already  robbed  them,  for  I  have  with- 
drawn myself  I  have  suffered  an  en- 
chantress to  step  between  me  and  my 
duty — another  will  than  mine  finds 
utterance,  influences,  and  indeed  con- 
trols my  thoughts  and  actions.  Alas ! 
a  king  should  be  old  and  be  born  with 
the  heart  of  a  graybeard — he  dare  never 
have  a  heart  of  youth  and  fire  if  he 
would  serve  his  people  faithfully  and 
honestly  !  With  a  heart  of  flesh  I  might 
have  been  a  happier,  a  more  amiable 
man,  but  a  weak,  unworthy  king.  I 
should  have  been  intoxicated  by  a  wo- 
man's love,  and  her  light  wish  would 
have  been  more  powerful  than  my  will. 
Never,  never  shall  that  be  !  I  will  have 
the  courage  to  trample  my  own  heart 
under  foot,  and  the  sorrows  of  the  mau 
shall  be  soothed  ami  healed  by  the  pomp 
and  glory  of  the  king." 

In  the  next  room  Barbarina  leaned 
over  against  the  door,  exhausted  by  her 
prayers  and  tears.     "  Listen  to  me,  my 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


203 


King,"  said  she,  softly.  "  In  one  hour 
you  have  broken  my  will  and  humbled 
ray  pride  forever !  From  this  time  on- 
ward Barbarina  has  no  will  but  yours. 
Command  me,  then,  wholly.  Say  to  me 
that  I  am  never  to  dance  again,  and  I 
swear  to  you  that  my  foot  shall  never 
more  step  upon  the  stage ;  command 
that  all  my  roles  shaU  be  given  to  the 
Cochois,  I  will  myself  hand  them  to  her 
and  pray  her  to  accept  them.  You  see, 
my  king,  that  I  am  no  longer  proud — 
no  longer  ambitious.  Have  mercy 
upon  me,  then,  sire ;  open  this  fearful 
door ;  let  me  look  upon  your  face  ;  let 
me  lie  at  your  feet.  Ob,  my  king,  be 
merciful,  be  gracious ;  cast  me  not  away 
from  you  ! " 

The  king  leaned,  agitated  and  trem- 
bling, against  the  door.  Once  he  raised 
his  arm  and  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
bolt,  Barbarina  uttered  a  joyful  cry, 
for  she  had  heard  this  movement.  But 
the  king  withdrew  his  hand  again.  All 
was  still ;  from  time  to  time  the  king 
heard  a  low  sigh,  a  suppressed  sob, 
then  silence  followed. 

Barbarina  pleaded  no  more.  She 
knew  and  felt  it  was  in  vain.  Scorn 
and  wounded  pride  dried  the  tears 
which  love  and  despair  had  caused  to 
flow.  She  wept  no  more — ^her  eyes 
were  flaming — she  cast  wild,  angry 
glances  toward  the  door  before  which 
she  had  lain  so  long  in  humble  entreaty. 
Threateningly  she  raised  her  arms  tow- 
ard heaven,  and  her  lips  murmured  un- 
intelligible words  of  cursing  or  oaths 
of  vengeance. 

"Farewell,  King  Frederick,"  she  said, 
at  last,  in  mellow,  joyous  tones — "  fare- 
well !  Barbarina  leaves  you." 

She  felt  that,  in  uttering  these  wordS; 
the  tears  had  again  rushed  to  her  eyes. 
She  shook  her  head  wildly,  and  closed 
ner  eyelids,  and  pressed  her  hands  firm- 
.y  upon  them,  thus  forcing  back  the 
Dittcr  tears  to  their  source.  Then  with 
one  wild  spring,  like  an  enraged  lion- 


ess, she  sprang  to  the  other  door,  opened 
it  and  rushed  out. 

Frederick  waited  some  time,  then  en- 
tered the  room,  which  seemed  to  him 
to  resound  with  the  sighs  and  prayers 
of  Barbarina.  It  brought  back  the 
memory  of  joys  that  were  past,  and  it 
appeared  to  him  even  as  the  death 
chamber  of  his  hopes  and  happiness 
He  stepped  hastily  through  the  room 
and  bolted  the  door  thn)ugh  which 
Barbarina  had  gone  out.  He  wished 
to  be  alone.  Iso  one  should  share  hia 
solitude — no  one  should  breath  this  air, 
still  perfumed  by  the  sighs  of  Bai'ba- 
rina.  King  Frederick  looked  slowly 
and  sadly  around  him,  then  hastened  to 
the  door  before  which  Barbarina  had 
knelt.  An  embroidered  handkerchief 
lay  upon  the  floor.  The  king  raised  it ; 
it  was  wet  with  tears,  and  warm  and 
fragrant  from  contact  with  her  soft,  fine 
hand.  He  pressed  it  to  his  lips  and  to 
his  burning  eyes;  then  munuured, 
lightly,  "  Fai'eweU !  a  last,  long  farewell 
to  happiness ! " 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  LAST  8TKTJGGLE  FOR  POWER. 

Restless  and  anxious  the  two  cava- 
liers of  the  king  paced  the  anteroom, 
turning  their  eyes  constantly  toward 
the  door  which  led  into  the  king's 
study,  and  which  had  not  been  opened 
since  yesterday  morning.  For  twenty- 
four  hours  the  king  had  not  left;  hia 
room.  In  vain  had  General  Rothen- 
berg  and  Duke  Algarotti  prayed  for  ad- 
mittance. 

The  king  had  not  even  replied  to 
them;  he  had,  however,  called  Fre- 
dersdorf,  and  commanded  him  sternly 
to  admit  no  one,  and  not  to  r&turn  him 
self  unless  summoned.  The  king  would 
take    no  refreshment,  would  undress 


204 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


himself,  required  no  assistance,  and 
must  not  be  disturbed  in  the  impor- 
tant work  which  now  occupied  him. 

This  strict  seclusion  and  unaccus- 
tomed silence  made  the  king's  friends 
and  servants  very  anxious.  With  op- 
pressed hearts  they  stood  before  the  door 
and  listened  to  every  sound  from  the 
room.  Diu"ing  many  hours  they  heard 
the  regular  step  of  the  king  as  he 
walked  backward  and  forward  ;  some- 
times he  uttered  a  hasty  word,  then 
sighed  wearily,  and  nothing  more. 

Night  came  upon  them.  Pale  with 
alarm,  Rothenberg  asked  Algarotti  if  it 
was  not  their  duty  to  force  the  door  and 
ascertain  the  condition  of  his  majesty. 
''Beware  how  you  take  that  rash 
step ! "  said  Fredersdorf,  shaking  his 
head.  "  The  king's  commands  wore 
imperative ;  he  will  be  alone  and  undis- 
turbed." 

"  Have  you  no  suspicion  of  the  cause 
of  his  majesty's  distress  ? "  asked  Al- 
garotti. 

"For  some  days  past  the  king  has 
been  grave  and  out  of  humor,"  replied 
Fredersdorf.  "I  am  inclined  to  the 
opinion  that  his  majesty  has  been  an- 
gered and  wounded  by  some  dear 
friend." 

General  Rothenberg  bent  over  and 
whispered  to  Algarotti ;  "  Barbarina  has 
wounded  him  ;  for  some  time  past  she 
has  been  sullen  and  imperious.  These 
haughty  and  powerful  natures  have 
been  carrying  on  an  invisible  war  with 
each  other ;  they  both  contend  for  sov- 
ereignty." 

"  If  this  is  so,  I  predict  confidently 
that  the  beautiful  Barbarina  will  be 
conquered,"  said  Algarotti.  "Man- 
kind will  always  be  conquered  by  Fred- 
erick the  king,  and  must  submit  to 
him.  So  soon  as  Frederick  the  Oreat 
recognizes  the  fact  that  the  man  in 
him  is  fiubjected  by  the  enchanting 
Barbarina,  like  Alexander  the  Oreat, 
he  will  cut  the  gordian  knot,  and  re- 


lease himself  from  even  the  soft  bond" 
age  of  love." 

"I  fear  that  he  is  strongly  bound, 
and  that  the  gordian  knot  of  love  can 
withstand  even  the  king's  sword.  Fred- 
erick, ordinarily  so  unapproachable,  so 
inexorable  in  his  authority  and  self-con- 
trol, endures  with  a  rare  patience  the 
proud,  commanding  bearing  of  Barba- 
rina. Even  yesterday  evening  when  the 
king  did  me  the  honor  to  sup  with  me 
in  the  society  of  the  Barbarina,  in  spite 
of  her  peevishness  and  ever-changing 
mood,  he  was  the  most  gallant  and  at 
tentive  of  cavaliers." 

"And  you  think  the  king  has  not 
seen  the  signora  since  that  time  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know ;  let  us  ask  the 
guard." 

The  gentlemen  ascertained  from  the 
guard,  that  Barbarina  had  left  the 
king's  room  in  the  morning,  deadly 
pale,  and  with  her  eyes  inflamed  by 
weeping. 

"  You  see  that  I  was  right,"  said  Al- 
garotti ;  "  this  love-aflair  has  reached  a 
crisis." 

"  In  which  I  fear  the  king  will  come 
to  grief,"  said  Rothenberg.  "Believe 
me,  his  majesty  loves  Barbarina  most 
tenderly." 

"  Not  the  king  !  the  man  loves  Bar- 
barina.— But  listen !  did  you  not  hear 
a  noise  ? " 

"  Yes,  the  low  tone  of  a  flute,"  said 
Fredersdorf.  "Let  us  approach  the 
door." 

Lightly  and  cautiously  they  stepped 
to  the  door,  behind  which  the  king 
had  carried  on  his  fierce  battle  with 
himself,  a  battle  in  which  he  had  shed 
his  heart's  best  blood.  Again  they 
heard  the  sound  of  the  flute :  it  trem- 
bled on  the  air  like  the  last  sigh  of  lovt 
and  happiness;  sometimes  it  seemed 
like  the  stormy  utterance  of  a  strong 
soul  in  extremest  anguish,  then  melted 
softly  away  in  sighs  and  tears.  Never 
in  the  king's  gayest  and  brightest  days 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


2u5 


nad  he  played  with  such  masterly  skill 
as  now  in  this  hour  of  anguish.  The 
pain,  the  love,  the  doubt,  the  longing 
which  swelled  his  heurt,  found  utter- 
ance in  this  mournful  adagio.  Greatly 
moved,  the  three  friends  listened  breath- 
lessly to  tliis  wondrous  development  of 
genius.  The  king  completed  the  music 
with  a  note  of  profound  suffering. 

Duke  Algarotti  bowed  to  Rothenberg. 
"  Friend,"  said  he,  "  that  was  the  last 
song  of  the  dying  swan." 

"  God  grant  that  it  was  the  last  song 
of  love,  not  the  death-song  of  the 
king's  heart !  When  a  man  tears  love 
forcibly  from  his  heart,  I  am  sure  he 
tears  away  also  a  piece  of  the  heart  in 
which  it  was  rooted." 

"  Can  we  not  think  of  something  to 
console  him  ?  Let  us  go  in  the  morn- 
ing to  Barbarina;  perhaps  we  may 
learn  from  her  what  has  happened." 

"Think  you  we  can  do  nothing 
more  to-day  to  withdraw  the  king 
from  his  painful  solitude  ? " 

"  I  think  the  king  is  a  warrior  and  a 
hero,  and  will  be  able  to  conquer  him- 
self" 

Whils  the  king,  in  solitude,  strength- 
ened only  by  his  genius,  struggled  with 
his  love,  Barbarina,  with  all  the  pas- 
sion of  her  stormy  nature,  endured  in- 
expressible torture.  She  was  not  alone 
— ^her  sister  was  with  her,  mingled  her 
tears  with  hers,  and  whispered  sweet 
words  of  hope. 

"  The  king  will  return  to  you ;  your 
beauty  holds  him  captive  with  invis- 
ible but  magic  bonds.  Your  grace  and 
fascinations  will  live  in  his  memory, 
will  smile  upon  him,  and  lure  liim  back 
humble  and  conquered  to  your  feet." 

Barbarina  shook  her  head  sadly.  ''  I 
have  lost  him.  The  eagle  has  bu)-st  the 
weak  bonds  with  which  I  had  bound 
his  wings ;  now  he  is  free,  he  wUl  again 
unfold  them,  and  rise  up  conquering 
nuu  to  conquer  in  the  blue  vaults  of 
beaven.    In  the  rapturous  enjoyment 


of  liberty  he  will  forget  how  happy  he 
was  in  captivity.  No,  no  ;  I  have  lost 
him  forever  I " 

She  clasped  her  hands  over  her  face, 
and  wept  bitterly.  Then,  as  if  roused 
to  dire  extremity  by  some  agonizing 
thought,  she  sprang  from  her  seat ;  her 
eyes  were  flashing,  her  cheeks  crimson. 

"  Oh,  to  think  that  he  abandoned 
me;  that  I  was  true  to  him;  that  a 
man  lives  who  deserted  Barbarina! 
That  is  a  shame,  a  humiliation,  of 
which  I  will  die — yes,  surely  die !  " 

"  But  this  man  was,  at  least,  a  king," 
said  her  sister,  in  hesitating  tones. 

Barbarina  shook  her  head  fiercely, 
and  her  rich  black  hair  fell  about  her 
face  in  wild  disorder. 

"  What  is  it  to  me  that  he  is  a  king  ? 
nis  sceptre  is  not  so  powerful  as  that 
of  Barbarina.  My  realm  extends  over 
the  universe,  wherever  men  have  eyes 
to  see  and  hearts  to  feel  emotion.  That 
this  man  is  a  king  does  not  lessen  my 
shame,  or  make  my  degradation  lesc 
bitter.  Barbarina  is  deserted,  forsaken, 
spurneJ,  and  yet  lives.  She  is  not 
crushed  and  ground  to  dust  by  this 
dishonor.  But,  as  I  live,  I  wUl  take 
vengeance,  vengeance  for  this  mon- 
strous wrong  —  this  murder  of  my 
heart ! " 

So,  in  the  midst  of  wild  prayers,  and 
teai's,  and  oaths  of  vengeance,  the  day 
declined  ;  long  after,  Barbarina  yielded 
to  the  tender  entreaties  of  Marietta,  and 
stretched  herself  upon  her  couch.  She 
buried  her  head  in  the  pillows,  and 
during  the  weary  hours  of  the  night  she 
wept  bitterly. 

With  pale  cheeks  and  weary  eyes  she 
rose  on  the  following  morning.  She 
was  still  profoundly  sad,  but  nq  longer 
hopeless.  Her  vanity,  her  rare  beauty, 
in  whose  magic  power  she  still  be- 
lieved, whispered  golaen  words  of 
comfort,  of  encouragement;  she  waa 
now  convinced  that  the  king  could  not 
give  her  up.     "  He  spurned  me  yeste'  ■ 


206 


BERLIN  AND   SANS^OUCI;    OR. 


clay,  to-day  he  "will  implore  me  to  for- 
give him."  She  was  not  surprised  when 
her  servant  announced  Duke  Algarotti 
and  General  Rothenberg. 

"  Look  you,"  said  she,  turning  to  her 
sister,  "  you  see  my  heart  judged 
rightly.  The  king  sends  iiis  two  most 
confidential  friends  to  conduct  me  to 
him.  Oh,  my  God,  grant  that  this 
poor  heart,  which  has  oome  such 
agony,  may  not  now  break  from  excess 
of  happiness !  I  shall  see  him  again, 
and  his  beautiful,  loving  eyes  will  melt 
out  of  my  heart  even  the  rcmembrancs 
of  the  terrible  glance  with  which  he 
looked  upon  me  yesterday.  Farewell, 
Bister;  farewell — I  go  to  the  king." 

"But  not  so;  not  in  this  neglige; 
not  with  this  hair  in  wild  disorder," 
said  Marietta,  holding  her  back. 

"  Yes,  even  as  I  am,"  said  Barbarina. 
"  For  his  sake  I  have  torn  my  hair ; 
for  his  sake  my  eyes  are  red ;  my  sad, 
pale  face  speaks  eloquently  of  my  de- 
spair, and  will  awaken  his  reioentance." 

Proudly,  triumphantly  she  entered 
the  saloon,  and  returned  the  profound 
salutation  of  the  two  gentlemen  with  a 
slight  bow, 

"  You  bring  me  a  message  from  his 
majesty  ? "  said  she,  hastily, 

"The  king  commissioned  us  to  in- 
quire after  your  health,  signora,"  said 
Algarotti. 

Barbarina  smiled  very  significantly, 
"lie  sent  you  to  watch  me  closely," 
thought  she  ;  "  he  would  ascertain  if 
I  am  ready  to  pardon,  ready  to  return 
to  him.  I  will  meet  them  frankly, 
honestly,  and  make  their  duty  light. — 
Say  to  his  majesty  that  I  have  passed 
the  night  in  sighs  and  tears,  that  my 
heart  is  full  of  reijeutance,  I  grieve  for 
uiy  conduct." 

The  gentlemen  exchanged  a  meaning 
glance;  they  already  knew  what  they 
came  to  learn.  Barbarina  had  had  a 
contest  with  the  king,  and  he  had  sep- 
arated from  hei  in  scorn.     Therefore 


was  the  proud  Barbarina  so  humble,  so 
repentant, 

Barbarina  looked  at  them  expect- 
antly ;  she  was  convinced  they  would 
now  ask,  in  the  name  of  the  king,  to 
be  allowed  to  conduct  her  to  the  cas- 
tle. But  they  said  nothing  to  that  ef- 
fect. 

"  Repentance  must  be  a  very  poison- 
ous worm,"  said  General  Rothenberg, 
looking  steadily  upon  the  face  of  Bar- 
barina ;  "  it  has  changed  the  blooming 
rose  of  yesterday  into  a  fair,  white 
blossom." 

"  That  is  perhaps  fortunate,"  said 
Algarotti.  "  It  is  well  known  that  the 
white  rose  has  fewer  thorns  than  the 
red,  and  from  this  time  onward,  signo- 
ra, there  will  be  less  danger  of  mortal 
wounds  when  approaching  you." 

Barbarina  trembled,  and  her  eyes 
flashed  angrily.  "  Do  you  mean  to  in- 
timate that  my  strength  and  power  are 
broken,  and  that  I  (^^  n  never  recover 
my  realm  ?  Do  you  mean  that  the  Bar- 
barina, whom  the  king  so  shamefully 
deserted,  so  cruelly  humiliated,  is  a 
frail  butterfly  ?  that  the  purple  hue  of 
beauty  has  been  brushed  from  my 
wings  ?  that  I  can  no  longer  charm 
and  ravish  the  beholder  because  a 
rough  hand  has  touched  me  ?  " 

"  I  mean  to  say,  signora,  that  it  will 
be  a  happiness  to  the  king,  if  the  sad 
experience  of  the  last  few  days  should 
make  you  milder  and  gentler  of  mood," 
said  Algarotti. 

Rothenberg  and  himself  had  gone  to 
Barbarina  to  find  out,  if  possible,  the 
whole  truth.  Tliey  wished  to  deceive 
her — to  lead  her  to  believe  that  the 
king  had  fully  confided  in  them. 

"  The  king  was  suffering  severely 
yesterday  from  the  wounds  which  the 
sharp  thorns  of  the  red  rose  had  in- 
flicted," said  Rothenberg. 

"And  did  he  not  cruelly  revenge 
himself?  "  cried  Barbarina.  "  He  left 
me  for  long  hours  kneeling  at  his  door, 


ii^. 


#■ 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT   AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


207 


wringing  my  hands,  and  pleading  for  j 
pity  and  pardon,  and  he  showed  no 
mercy.  But  that  is  passed,  forgotten, 
forgiven.  My  wounds  have  bled  and 
they  have  healed,  and  now  health  and 
happiness  will  return  to  my  poor 
martyred  heart.  Say  to  my  king  that 
I  am  humble.  I  pray  for  happiness, 
not  as  my  right,  but  as  a  royal  gift 
which,  kneeling  and  with  uplifted 
hands,  I  will  receive,  oh,  how  grate- 
fully 1  But  no,  no,  you  shall  not  tell 
this  to  the  king — I  will  confess  all  my- 
self to  his  majesty.  Come,  come,  the 
king  awaits  us — let  us  hasten  to  him  !  " 

"We  were  only  commanded  to  in- 
quire after  the  health  of  the  signora," 
said  Algarotti,  coolly. 

"  And  as  you  have  assured  us  that 
you  have  passed  the  night  in  tears  and 
repentance,  this  confession  may  per- 
haps ameliorate  his  majesty's  sufferings," 
said  Rothenberg. 

Barbarina  looked  amazed  from  one 
to  the  other.  Suddenly  her  cheeks  be- 
came crimson,  and  her  eyes  flashed 
with  passion.  "  You  did  not  come  to 
conduct  me  to  the  king?"  said  she, 
breathlessly. 

"  No,  signora,  the  king  did  not  give 
us  this  commission." 

"  Ah  !  he  demands,  then,  that  I  shall 
come  voluntarily  ?  Well,  then,  I  will 
go  uncalled.  Lead  me  to  his  majesty  I  " 

"  That  is  a  request  which  I  regret  I 
cannot  fulfil.  The  king  has  sternly 
commanded  us  to  admit  no  one." 

"  No  one  ?  " 

"  No  one,  without  exception,  signora," 
said  Algarotti,  bowing  profoundly. 

Barbarina  pressed  her  lips  together 
to  restrain  a  cry  of  anguish.  She 
placed  her  hands  upon  the  table  to 
sustain  her  sinking  form.  "  You  have 
only  come  to  say  that  the  king  will 
not  receive  me  ;  that  to-day,  as  yester- 
day, his  doors  are  closed  against  me. 
Well,  then,  gentlemen,  you  have  ful- 
filled your  duty.     Go  and  say  to  his 


majesty  I  shall  respect  his  wishes — go, 
sirs ! " 

Barbarina  remained  proudly  erect, 
and  replied  to  tlieir  greeting  with  a  de- 
risive smile.  With  her  hands  pressed 
nervously  on  the  table,  she  looked 
after  the  two  cavaliers  as  they  left  her 
saloon,  with  wide-extended,  tearless 
eyes.  But  when  the  door  closed  upon 
them,  when  sure  she  could  not  be  heard 
by  them,  she  uttered  so  wild,  so  pier- 
cing a  cry  of  anguish,  that  Slarietta 
rushed  into  the  room.  Barbarina  had 
sunk,  as  if  struck  by  lightning,  to  the 
floor. 

"  I  am  dishonored,  betrayed,  spurn- 
ed," cried  she,  madly.  "  O  God !  let 
me  not  outlive  this  shame — send  death 
to  my  relief!" 

Soon,  however,  her  cries  of  despair 
were  changed  to  words  of  scorn  and 
liittemess.  She  no  longer  wished  to 
die — she  wished  to  revenge  herself. 
She  rose  from  her  knees,  and  paced  the 
room  hastily,  raging,  flashing,  filled 
with  a  burning  thirst  for  vengeance,  re- 
solved to  cast  a  veil  over  her  shame, 
and  hide  it,  at  least,  from  the  eyes  of 
the  world. 

"  Marietta,  O  Marietta !  "  cried  she, 
breathlessly,  "  help  me  to  find  the 
means  quickly,  by  one  blow,  to  satisfy 
my  vengeance ! — a  means  which  will 
prove  to  the  king  that  I  am  not,  as  he 
supposes,  dying  from  grief  and  de- 
spair; that  I  am  still  the  Barbarina — 
the  adored,  triumphant,  all-conquering 
artiste — a  means  which  will  convince 
the  whole  world  that  I  am  not  de- 
serted, scorned,  but  that  I  myself  am 
the  inconstant  one.  Oh,  where  shall 
I  find  the  means  to  rise  triumphantly 
from  this  humiliation  ?  where — " 

"  Silence,  silence,  sister !  some  one  is 
coming.  Let  no  one  witness  your  agi- 
tation." 

The  servant  entered  and  aimounced 
that  Baron  von  Swartz,  director  of  the 
theatre,  wished  to  know  if  the  signcra 


208 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


would  appear  in  the  ballet  of  the  even- 
ing. 

"  Say  to  him  that  I  will  dance  with 
pleasure,"  said  Barbarina. 

When  once  more  alone.  Marietta  en- 
treated her  to  be  quiet,  and  not  increase 
her  agitation  by  appearing  in  public. 

Barbarina  interrupted  her  impa- 
tiently. "  Do  you  not  see  that  already 
the  rumor  of  my  disgrace  has  reached 
the  theatre  ?  Do  you  not  see  the  mal- 
ice of  this  question  of  Baron  Swartz  ? 
They  think  that  Barbarina  is  so  com- 
pletely broken,  crushed  by  the  dis- 
pleasure of  the  king,  that  she  can  no 
longer  dance.  They  have  deceived 
themselves  —  I  will  dance  to-night. 
Perhaps  I  shall  go  mad;  but  I  will 
fii*st  refute  the  slander,  and  bring  to 
naught  the  report  of  my  disgrace  with 
the  king." 

And  now  the  servant  entered  and  an- 
nounced Monsieur  Cocceji. 

"You  cannot  possibly  receive  him," 
whispered  Marietta.  "  Say  that  you 
are  studying  your  role  for  the  evening ; 
say  that  you  are  occupied  with  your 
toilet.  Say  what  you  will,  only  decline 
to  receive  him." 

Barbarina  looked  thoughtful  for  a 
moment.  "No,"  said  she,  musingly, 
"  I  will  not  dismiss  him.  Conduct  Coc- 
ceji to  my  boudoir,  and  say  he  may  ex- 
pect me." 

The  moment  the  servant  left  them, 
Barbarina  seized  her  sister's  hand.  "  I 
have  prayed  to  God  for  means  to  re- 
venge myself,  and  He  has  heard  my 
prayer.  You  know  Cocceji  loves  me, 
and  has  long  wooed  me  in  vain. 
Well,  then,  to-day  he  shall  not  plead  in 
vain;  to-day  I  will  promise  him  my 
love,  but  I  will  make  my  own  condi- 
tions.    Come,  Marietta ! " 

Glowing  and  lovely  from  excitement, 
Barbarina  entered  the  boudoir  where 
the  young  Councillor  Cocceji,  son  of 
the  minister,  awaited  her.  With  an 
enchanting  smile,  she  advanced  to  meet 


him,  and  fixing  her  great  burning  eyes 
upon  him,  she  said  softly,  "  Are  you 
not  yet  cured  of  your  love  for  me  ?  " 

The  young  man  stepped  back  a  mo- 
ment pale  and  wounded,  but  Barba- 
rina stood  before  him  in  her  wondrous 
beauty;  a  significant,  enchanting  smile 
was  on  her  lip,  and  in  her  eyes  lay 
something  so  sweetly  encouraging,  so 
bewildering,  that  he  was  reassured;  he 
felt  that  it  was  not  her  intention  to 
mock  at  his  passion. 

"  This  love  is  a  fatal  malady  of  which 
I  shall  never  be  healed,"  he  said,  warm- 
ly ;  "  a  malady  which  resists  all  reme- 
dies." 

"  What  if  I  return  your  love  ?  "  said 
she  in  soft,  sweet  tones. 

Cocceji's  countenance  beamed  with 
ecstasy ;  he  was  completely  overcome 
by  this  unlooked-for  hapijiness. 

"Barbarina,  if  I  dream,  if  I  am  a 
somnambulist,  do  not  awaken  me  !  If, 
in  midsummer  madness  only,  I  have 
heard  these  blissful  words,  do  not  un- 
deceive me !  Let  me  dream  on,  give 
my  mad  fancy  full  play  ;  or,  slay  me  if 
you  will,  but  do  not  say  that  I  mis- 
take your  meaning ! " 

"I  shall  not  say  that,"  she  whis- 
pered, almost  tenderly.  "For  a  long 
year  you  have  sworn  that  you  loved 
me." 

"  And  you  have  had  the  cruelty  to 
jest  always  at  my  passion." 

"From  this  day  I  believe  in  your 
love,  but  you  must  give  me  a  i)roof  of 
it.     Will  you  do  that  ? " 

"  I  will,  Barbarina ! " 

"  Well,  then,  I  demand  no  giant 
task,  no  herculean  labor;  there  is  no 
rival  whom  you  must  murder  1  I  de- 
mand only  that  you  shall  make  your 
love  for  me  known  to  the  whole  world. 
Give  eclat  to  this  passion  !  I  demand 
that  with  head  erect,  and  clear  un- 
troubled eye,  you  shall  give  the  world 
a  proof  of  this  love !  I  will  not  that 
this  love  you  declare  to  me  so  passion 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


209 


ately  shall  be  hidden  under  a  veil  of 
mystery  and  silence.  I  demand  that 
you  have  the  courage  to  let  the  sun  in 
the  heavens  and  the  eyes  of  men  look 
down  into  your  heart  and  read  your 
secret,  and  that  no  quiver  of  the  eye- 
lids, no  feeling  of  confusion,  shall 
shadow  your  countenance.  I  -will 
that  to-morrow  all  Berlin  shall  know 
and  believe  the  young  Councillor  Coc- 
ceji,  the  son  of  the  minister,  the  fa- 
vorite of  the  king,  loves  the  Barbarina 
ardently,  and  that  she  returns  his  jDas- 
sion.  Berlin  must  know  that  this  is 
no  cold,  northern,  German,  phlegmatic 
liking,  which  chills  the  blood  in  the 
veins  and  freezes  the  heart,  but  a  full, 
ardent,  glowing  passion,  animating 
every  fibre  of  our  being — an  Italian 
love,  a  love  of  sunshine,  and  of  storm, 
and  of  tempest." 

Barbarina  was  wholly  irresistible; 
her  bearing  was  proud,  her  eyes 
sparkled,  her  face  beamed  with  en- 
ergy and  enthusiasm.  A  less  passion- 
ate nature  than  that  of  Cocceji  would 
have  been  kindled  by  her  ardor,  would 
have  been  carried  away  by  her  energy. 

The  fiery  young  Cocceji  threw  him- 
self at  her  feet.  "  Command  me  !  my 
name,  my  life,  my  hand,  are  yours; 
only  love  me,  Barbarina,  and  I  will  be 
proud  to  declare  how  much  I  love  you  ; 
to  say  to  the  whole  world,  '  This  is  my 
bride,  and  I  am  honored  and  happy 
that  she  has  deigned  to  accept  my 
hand  I ' » 

''  Of  this  another  time,"  said  Barba- 
lina,  smiling;  "first  prove  to  the 
world  that  you  love  me.  This  even- 
ing in  the  theatre  give  some  public  evi- 
dence, give  the  Berliners  something  to 
talk  about:  then — then — "  said  she, 
softly,  "  the  rest  will  come  in  time." 


14 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

THE    DISTUKBAKCE    IN    THE    THEATBB. 

Duke  Algarotti  and  General 
Rothenberg  returned  to  the  castle 
much  comforted  by  their  interview 
with  Barbarina. 

"  The  Barbarina  repents,  and  is  ready 
to  take  the  first  step  toward  reconcilia- 
tion," said  Rothenberg ;  "  I  see  the 
end ;  I  will  go  at  once  and  order  my 
cook  to  prepare  a  si)lendid  supper  for 
the  evening." 

"  Do  not  be  hasty,"  said  Algarotti, 
shaking  his  head  ;  "  you  may  give  your 
cook  unnecessary  trouble,  and  the  rich 
feast  might  be  cold  before  the  arrival 
of  the  king." 

"  Do  you  believe  that  ? " 

"  I  believe  that  for  a  summer  cloud 
or  an  April  shower  the  king  would 
not  withdraw  himself  to  solitude  and 
silence.  It  is  no  passing  mood,  but  a 
life  question  which  agitates  him." 

"  The  door  has  not  been  opened  to- 
day ;  Fredersdorf  has  repeatedly  beg- 
ged for  admittance." 

The  two  friends  stood  sad  and  irres- 
olute in  the  anteroom,  alarmed  at  the 
seclusion  and  silence  of  the  king. 
Suddenly  the  door  leading  into  the 
corridor  was  hastily  opened,  and  a  man 
of  commanding  and  elegant  appear- 
ance stood  upon  the  threshold ;  you 
saw  at  a  glance  that  he  was  a  cavalier 
and  courtier,  while  his  glowing  cheek, 
his  clear,  bright  eyes,  and  jovial  smile 
betrayed  the  man  of  pleasure  and  the 
epicure.  This  remarkable  man,  in 
whom  every  one  who  looked  upon  him 
felt  confidence ;  whose  face,  in  spite  of 
the  thousand  wrinkles  which  fifty  years 
of  an  active,  useful  life  had  laid  upon 
it,  still  retained  an  innocent,  amiable, 
and  childlike  expression — this  man 
was  the  Marquis  d'Argens,  the  true,  un« 
changeable,  never-faltering  friend  of  th« 


210 


BERLIN    AND    SANS-SOUCI  ;    OR, 


king.  He  had  consecrated  to  him  his 
heart,  his  soul,  his  whole  being;  so 
great  was  his  reverence  for  his  royal 
master,  that  the  letters  received  from 
him  were  always  read  standing.  The 
inarquis  had  just  returned  from  Paris; 
he  entered  the  anteroom  of  the  king 
with  a  gay  and  happy  smile,  impatient 
and  eager  to  see  his  beloved  master. 
Without  looking  around,  he  hastened 
to  the  door  which  led  into  the  cabinet 
of  the  king.  Kothenberg  and  Alga- 
rotti  drew  near  to  him,  and  greeted 
him  joyously,  then  told  him  of  the 
strange  seclusion  of  the  king.  The 
countenance  of  the  marquis  was 
troubled,  and  his  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  We  must  not  allow  this,"  he  said, 
decidedly ;  "  I  will  kneel  before  the 
door,  and  pray  and  plead  till  the  noble 
heart  of  the  king  is  reached,  and  he 
will  have  pity  with  our  anxiety.  Go, 
Fredersdorf,  and  announce  me  to  his 
majesty." 

"  Sire,"  cried  Fredersdorf,  knocking 
on  the  door,  "  sire,  the  Marquis 
d'Argens  is  here,  and  begs  for  admit- 
tance." 

No  answer  was  given. 

"Oh,  sire,"  said  the  marquis,  "be 
merciful;  have  consideration  for  my 
eagerness  to  see  you  after  so  long  an 
ibsence;  I  have  travelled  day  and 
night  in  order  to  enjoy  that  happiness 
a  few  hours  sooner.  1  wish  to  warm 
and  solace  myself  in  the  sunshine  of 
your  glance ;  be  gracious,  and  allow  me 
to  enter." 

A  breathless  silence  followed  this 
earnest  entreaty.  At  last,  the  door  was 
shaken,  a  bolt  was  drawn  back,  and 
the  king  appeared  on  the  threshold. 
He  was  pale,  but  of  that  clear  and 
transparent  pullor  which  has  nothing 
In  common  with  the  sallow  hue  of 
physical  weakness ;  there  was  no  trace 
of  nervous  excitement.  Smiling,  and 
with  calm  dignity,  he  approached  his 
friends. 


"  Welcome,  marquis,  most  welcome  I 
^^^y  joy  and  happiness  crown  your 
return  I  No  doubt  you  have  much  to 
relate  to  us  of  your  wild  and  impu- 
dent countrymen,  and  I  see  that  Ro- 
thenberg  and  Algarotti  are  burning 
with  curiosity  to  hear  an  account  of 
your  love-adventures  and  rendezvous 
with  your  new-baked  and  glowing 
duchesses  and  princesses." 

"  Ah,  your  majesty,  he  approached 
with  the  proud  mien  of  a  conqueror," 
said  Kothenberg,  gladly  entering  into 
the  jesting  humor  of  the  king.  "  We 
are  more  than  ready  to  believe  in  the 
triumphs  of  the  marquis  at  the  court 
of  Louis  the  Fifteenth." 

"  The  marquis  has  done  wisely  if  he 
has  left  his  heart  in  Paris,"  said  Alga- 
rotti. "  Your  majesty  knows  that  he 
suffers  greatly  with  heart-disease,  and 
every  girl  whom  he  does  not  exactly 
know  to  be  a  rogue,  he  believes  to  be 
an  angel  of  innocence." 

"  You  know,"  rejoined  Rothenberg 
"  that  shortly  before  his  journey,  his 
housekeeper  stole  his  service  of  silver. 
The  marquis  promised  to  give  her  the 
worth  of  the  silver  if  she  would  dis- 
cover the  thief  and  restore  it.  She 
brought  it  back  immediately,  and  the 
marquis  not  only  paid  her  the  promised 
smn,  but  gave  her  a  handsome  reward 
for  her  adroitness  in  discovering  the 
robber.  As  D'Argens  triumphantly 
related  this  affair  to  me,  I  dared  to 
make  the  remark  that  the  housekeeper 
was  herself  the  rogue,  the  good  mar- 
quis was  as  much  exasperated  with  me 
as  if  I  had  dared  to  charge  Iwn  with 
theft  1  *  Have  more  reverence  for 
women,'  said  he  to  me,  gravely;  'to 
complain  of,  or  accuse  a  woman,  is 
a  crime  against  God  and  Nature. 
Women  are  virtuous  and  noble  when 
not  misled,  and  I  cannot  see  who  could 
have  tempted  my  good  housekeeper; 
she  is,  therefore,  innocent.' " 

All  laughed  heartily,  but  D'Argens. 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


211 


who  cast  liis  eyes  to  the  ground,  look- 
ing somewhat  ashamed.  But  the  king 
advanced,  and  laying  both  hands  upon 
the  shoulders  of  the  marquis,  he  looked 
into  the  kindly,  genial  face  with  an  ex- 
pression of  indescribable  love  and  con- 
fidence. 

"  He  has  the  heart  of  a  child,  the  in- 
tellect of  a  sage,  and  the- imagination 
of  a  poet,  by  the  grace  of  God,"  said 
the  king.  "  If  all  men  were  like  him, 
this  earth  would  be  no  vale  of  tears, 
but  a  glorious  paradise !  It  is  a  real 
happiness  to  me  to  have  you  here,  my 
dear  D'Argens.  You  shall  take  the 
place  of  the  Holy  Father,  and  bless 
and  consecrate  a  small  spot  of  earth  for 
me.  With  your  pure  lips  you  shall 
pray  to  the  house  gods  for  their  bless- 
ing and  protection  on  my  hearth,  and 
beseech  them  to  pour  a  little  joy  and 
mirth  into  the  cup  of  wormwood  and 
gaU  which  this  poor  life  presses  to  our 
lips.  IMy  palace  of  Weinberg,  near 
Pctsdam,  is  finished.  I  will  drive  you 
there  to-day — ^you  alone,  marquis !  As 
for  the  others,  they  are  light-minded, 
audacious,  suspicious  children  of  men, 
and  they  shall  not  so  soon  poison  the 
Air  in  my  little  paradise  with  their 
levities.  You  alone,  D'Argens,  are 
worthy.  You  are  pure  as  those  who 
lived  before  the  fall.  You  have  never 
tasted  of  the  ominous  and  death-giving 
apple.  You  will  go  with  me,  then,  to 
Weinberg,  and  when  yon  have  conse- 
crated it,  you  shall  relate  to  me  the 
clironiqrie  scandaleuse  of  the  French 
court.  Now,  however,  I  must  work! 
— Fredersdorf,  are  my  ministers  yet 
here  ? " 

"  Sire,  they  have  been  an  hour  in  the 
bureau." 

"  Who  is  in  the  anteroom  ?  " 

"Baron  Swartz,  with  the  repertoire 
jl  the  week." 

"Ah !  Swartz,"  said  the  king,  thought- 
fully, "let  him  enter." 

Fredersdorf  hastened  to  summon  the 


director,  and  the  king  recommenced 
his  careless  conversation  with  his  friends. 
As  the  baron  entered,  the  king  stepped 
forward  to  meet  him,  and  took  a  paper 
from  his  hand.  He  read  it  with  seem- 
ing indifference,  but  his  lips  were  com- 
pressed and  his  brow  clouded. 

"  Who  will  dance  the  solo  this  even- 
ing in  Re  Pastore  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 

"  Signora  Barbarina.  your  majesty." 

"  Ah  !  the  Signora  Barbarina,"  said 
the  king,  carelessly.  "  I  thought  I  heard 
that  she  was  indisposed  ? " 

Frederick's  eyes  were  fixed  searching- 
ly  upon  his  friends.  He  perhaps  sus- 
pected the  truth,  and  thought  it  natural 
that,  in  the  disquiet  of  their  hearts, 
they  had  sought  an  explanation  of  Bar- 
barina. 

"  Sire,"  said  Rothenberg,  "  Signora 
Barbarina  has  entirely  recovered.  Al- 
garotti  and  myself  made  her  a  visit  this 
morning,  and  she  commissioned  us,  if 
your  majesty  should  be  gracious  enough 
to  ask  for  her,  to  suy  that  she  was  well 
and  happy." 

The  king  made  no  reply.  He  walked 
thoughtfully  backward  and  forward, 
then  stood  before  D'Argens,  and  said, 
in  a  kindly  tone  :  "  You  are  so  great  an 
enthusiast  for  the  stage  that  it  would 
be  cruel  to  take  you  to  Weinberg  this 
evening.  We  will  go  to  the  theatre 
and  see  Barbarina  dance,  and  to-morrow 
you  shall  consecrate  my  house ;  and 
now,  adieu,  gentlemen—  I  must  work  1 
You  will  be  my  guests  at  dinner,  and 
will  accompany  me  to  the  theatre." 

The  king  entered  his  study.  "  She 
defies  me,"  said  he  lightly  to  himselE 
"  She  will  prove  to  me  that  she  is  in- 
different. Well,  so  be  it ;  I  will  also 
show  that  I  have  recovered  !  " 

The  theatre  was  at  last  opened.  A 
brilliant  assembly  filled  the  first  range 
of  boxes,  and  the  parquet.  The  second 
tier  and  the  parterre  were  occupied  by 
the  burghers,  merchants,  and  their 
wives  and  daughters,  who  were  waiting 


212 


BERLIN    AND    SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


with  joyful  impatience  for  the  com- 
mencement of  the  performance.  The 
brilliant  court  circle,  however,  was  ab- 
sorbed by  other  interests.  A  murmur 
had  spread  abroad  that  "  the  Barbarina 
had  fallen  into  disgrace  and  lost  forever 
the  favor  of  the  king."  The  wild  de- 
spair of  the  beautiful  dancer  was  spoken 
of,  and  there  were  some  who  declared 
that  she  had  made  an  attempt  to  take 
her  life.  Others  asserted  that  she  had 
sworn  never  again  to  appear  on  the 
Berlin  stage,  and  that  she  would  assur- 
edly feign  illness  in  order  not  to  dance. 
All  were  looking  anxiously  for  the  ris- 
ing of  the  curtain,  and  toward  the  side 
door  through  which  the  king  and  his 
suite  were  accustomed  to  enter. 

At  last  the  door  opened ;  the  drums 
and  trumpets  sounded  merrily ;  the  king 
entered,  and  walked  with  calmcomi)os- 
ure  to  his  chair.  The  bell  rang,  the 
curtain  rolled  up,  and  the  ballet  began. 

There  was  first  a  dance  of  shepherds 
and  shepherdesses,  then  an  interrup- 
tion by  fauns  and  satyrs,  who,  inter- 
mingled in  groups  with  the  first  dancers, 
had  ranged  themselves  on  the  side  of 
the  stage,  waiting  for  the  appearance 
of  the  shepherd  queen.  There  was  a 
breathless  pause — every  eye  but  the 
king's  was  fixed  upon  the  stage. 

And  now  there  was  an  outburst  of 
admiration  and  enthusiasm.  Yes,  there 
she  was ;  rosy,  glowing,  perfumed,  ten- 
der, enchanting,  and  intoxicating,  she 
floated  onward  in  her  robe  of  silver. 
Her  magical  smile  disclosed  her  small, 
pearly  teeth  and  laughing  dimples;  her 
great,  mysterious  black  eyes  understood 
the  art  of  flattery  and  of  menace ;  in 
both  they  were  irresistible.  Noiselessly 
she  floated  onward  to  the  front  of  the 
stage.  Now,  with  indescribable  grace, 
she  bowed  her  body  backward,  and 
standing  on  tiptoe  she  raised  her  rounded 
arms  high  over  her  head,  and  looked 
upward,  with  a  sweet  smile,  to  a  wreatli 
of  roses  which  she  held. 


"  "Wondrous,  most  wondrous  I  "  cried 
suddenly  a  full,  clear  voice.  It  was  the 
young  state  councillor,  Von  Cocceji, 
who  sat  in  the  proscenium  box  near  the 
stage,  and  gazed  with  beaming  eyes  on 
Barbarina. 

Barbarina  turned  toward  him,  and 
smiled  sweetly.  The  king  frowned, 
and  played  rather  fiercely  with  his  snufl^- 
box. 

"  "Wondrous  !  "  repeated  Cocceji,  and 
threw  a  threatening,  scornful  glance 
upon  a  thin,  wan  young  man  who  sat 
near  him,  and  who  dared,  in  a  small, 
weak  voice  to  repeat  the  "  wondrous  " 
of  the  young  athlete.  "  I  pray  you,  sir, 
to  refrain  from  the  expression  of  your 
applause,  or,  if  that  is  impossible,  choose 
your  own  words,  and  not  mine,  to  con- 
vey your  approbation,"  said  the  six- 
footed  giant,  Cocceji,  to  his  pallid  neigh- 
bor. 

The  latter  looked  with  a  sort  of  hor- 
ror at  the  broad-shouldered,  muscular 
figure  before  him,  and  scarcely  daring 
to  breathe  loudly,  he  looked  with  wide- 
open,  staring  eyes  at  Barbarina,  who  wa& 
now  floating  with  enchanting  grace  upon 
the  stage.  The  audience  had  entirely 
forgotten  the  vague  rumors  of  the  day 
— thought  no  more  of  the  king.  Their 
attenthm  was  wholly  given  to  Barbarina 
and  Cocceji,  whose  eyes  were  ever  fixed 
threateningly  upon  his  shrinking  neigh- 
bor. Suddenly,  just  as  Barbarina  had 
comijleted  one  of  her  most  difficult  tours 
and  knelt  before  the  lamps  to  receive 
the  bravos  of  the  spectators,  something 
flew  from  the  loge  of  Cocceji,  and  fell 
exactly  at  Barbarina's  feet. 

This  oftering  was  no  wreath  or  bou- 
quet of  flowers,  no  costly  gem,  but  a 
man,  a  poor,  panting,  terrified  man,  who 
did  not  yet  comprehend  how  he  came 
to  make  this  rapid  journey  through  the 
air,  nor  why  Cocceji  with  his  giant 
hand  had  seized  him  and  dashed  him 
upon  the  stage. 

Confused     and    terrified,    the    poci 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AXD  HIS  FRIENDS. 


213 


bruised  youth  lay  for  some  moments 
motionless  at  the  feet  of  Barbarina  ; 
then  gathering  himself  up  and  bowing 
profoundly  to  the  king,  who  regarded 
him  in  fierce  silence,  he  said  aloud  : 
"  Sire,  I  pray  for  pardon  ;  I  am  not  to 
blame ;  Cocceji  forbade  me,  in  a  proud, 
commanding  tone,  to  look  upon  the 
Signora  Barbarina.  As  I  did  not  choose 
to  obey  this  arbitrary  order,  he  seized 
me  without  warning,  and  dashed  me  at 
the  feet  of  the  signora."  *  The  public, 
recovered  from  their  astonishment,  be- 
gan to  whisper,  laugh  merrily,  and  gaze 
ironically  at  the  young  man,  who  stood 
humble  and  wan  near  Barbarina ;  while 
Cocceji,  turning  his  bold,  daring  face 
to  the  audience,  seemed  to  threaten 
every  man  who  looked  upon  him  ques- 
tioningly.  The  orchestra  was  silent. 
Barbarina  stood  radiant  in  grace  and 
beauty,  and  smiled  bewitchingly  upon 
Cocceji. 

"  Go  on,"  said  suddenly  the  clear, 
commanding  voice  of  the  king,  as  he 
nodded  to  the  poor  youth,  who  disap- 
peared behind  the  curtain.  "  Go  on," 
said  the  king  again.  The  music  com- 
menced, and  Barbarina,  raising  her  gar- 
land of  roses,  swam  like  an  elf  over  the 
boards.  The  audience  thought  not  of 
her  grace  and  beauty.  They  were  wholly 
occupied  with  this  curious  adventure  ; 
they  had  forgotten  her  disgrace.  They 
thought  only  of  Cocceji's  jDassionate 
love,  and  declared  he  was  jealous  as  a 
Turk.  So  Barbarma  had  gained  her 
purpose. 


CHAPTER    XVIL 

SAKS-SOUCI. 

Early  the  next  morning  a  plain, 
Bimple  equipage  stood  at  the  gate  of 
the  new  park  in  Potsdam.     The  king 

•  Muchler'B  "History  of  Frederick  the  Great" 


and  the  Marquis  d'Argens  entered  the 
carriage  alone.  Frederick  refused  all 
other  attendance ;  even  his  servants  were 
forbidden  to  accompany  him. 

When  the  carriage  stopped  he  opened 
the  door  himself,  and  springing  lightly 
out,  offered  his  arm  to  his  older  and 
less  agile  friend.  The  marquis  blushed 
like  a  young  girl,  and  wished  to  decline 
this  offered  service  of  the  king. 

Frederick,  however,  insisted  upon 
giving  his  assistance,  and  said,  smiling : 
"  Forget,  D'Argens,  for  this  day,  that  I 
am  a  king ;  grant  me  the  pleasure  of 
passing  the  time  Avith  you  without  cere- 
mony, as  friend  with  friend.  Come, 
marquis,  enter  my  paradise,  and  I  pray 
you  to  encourage  a  solemn  and  prayer- 
ful mood." 

"  Do  you  know,  sire,  I  have  a  feeling 
of  oppression  and  exaltation  combined, 
such  as  the  Grecians  may  have  felt  when 
they  entered  the  Delphian  valley  ? " 
said  D'Argens,  as  arm  in  arm  with  the 
king  they  sauntered  through  the  little 
shady  side  alUe  which  the  king  had 
expressly  chosen  in  order  to  surprise  the 
marquis  with  the  unexpected  view  of 
the  beautiful  height  upon  which  the 
castle  was  erected. 

"Well,  I  believe  that  many  oracles 
will  go  out  from  this  height  to  the 
world,"  said  Frederick ;  "  but  they  shall 
be  less  obscure,  shall  bear  no  double 
meaning ;  shall  not  be  partly  false,  shall 
contain  great  shining  truths.  I  also, 
dear  D'Argens,  feel  inspired.  I  seem  to , 
see  floating  before  me  through  the  trees 
a  majestic,  gigantic  form  of  air,  with 
uplifted  arm  beckoning  me  to  follow 
her.  That  is  the  spirit  of  the  world's 
history,  marquis  ;  she  carries  her  golden 
book  on  her  arm ;  in  her  right  hand, 
with  which  she  beckons  me,  she  holds 
the  diamond  point  with  which  she  will 
engrave  my  name  and  this  consecrated 
spot  upon  her  tables.  Therefore,  my 
holy  father  and  priest,  I  have  brought 
you    here    to    baptize    my  Weinberg 


214 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


Come,  fnend,  that  form  of  air  beckons 
once  more ;  she  awaits  the  baptism 
with  impatience." 

And  now  they  passed  from  the  little 
allee  and  entered  the  great  avenue ;  an 
i-'xpression  of  admiration  burst  from  the 
lips  of  the  marquis ;  with  flashing  eyes 
ae  gazed  around  upon  the  magnificent 
and  enchanting  scene.  Here,  just  be- 
fore them,  was  the  grand  basin  of  mar- 
ble, surrounded  with  groups  of  marble 
3tatues ;  farther  off  the  lofty  terraces, 
adorned  with  enormous  orange-trees, 
rustling  their  glossy  leaves  and  pearly 
blossoms  in  the  morning  breeze,  greet- 
ed their  king  with  their  intoxicating 
fragrance.  Upon  the  top  of  these  su- 
perb terraces,  between  groups  of  marble 
forms  and  laughing  cascades,  stood  the 
Jttle  castle  of  Weinberg,  beautiful  in 
its  simplicity ;  upon  its  central  cupola 
stood  a  golden  crown,  which  sparkled 
and  glittered  in  the  sunshine. 

The  king  pointed  to  the  crown. 
"Look,"  said  he,  "  how  it  flashes  in  the 
sun,  and  throws  its  shadow  upon  all 
beneath  it;  so  is  it,  or  may  it  be,  with 
my  whole  life  I  May  my  crown  and  my 
reign  be  glorious !  " 

The  marquis  pressed  his  hand  tender- 
ly. "  They  will  be  great  and  glorious 
through  all  time,"  said  he.  "Your 
grandchildren  and  your  great-grand- 
children will  speak  of  the  lustre  which 
played  upon  that  crown,  and  when  they 
speak  of  Prussia's  greatness  they  will 
say  :  'When  Frederick  the  Second  lived, 
the  earth  was  glad  with  light  and  sun- 
shine.' " 

Arm  in  arm,  and  silently,  they 
mounted  the  marble  steps  of  the  ter- 
race. Deep,  holy  silence  surrounded 
Lhem;  the  cascades  prattled  softly  ;  the 
tops  of  the  tall  trees  which  bordered  the 
terrace  bowed  and  whispered  lowly 
with  the  winds;  here  and  there  was 
heard  the  melodious  note  of  a  bird. 
No  noise  of  the  mad  world,  no  discord 
interrupted  this  holy  peace  of  Nature, 


They  seemed  to  have  left  the  world  be- 
hind them,  and  with  solemn  awe  to 
enter  upon  a  new  existence. 

Now  they  had  reached  the  height; 
they  turned  and  looked  back  upon  the 
beautiful  panorama  which  lay  at  their 
feet.  The  luxurious  freshness,  the  ar- 
tistic forms,  the  blue  and  graceful 
river  winding  through  the  wooded 
heights  and  green  valleys,  formed  an 
enchanting  spectacle. 

"Is  not  this  heavenly?"  said  Fred- 
erick, and  his  face  glowed  with  enjoy- 
ment. "  Can  we  not  rest  here  in  peace, 
away  from  all  the  sorrows  and  suffer- 
ings of  this  world  ? " 

"This  is,  indeed,  a  paradise,"  cried 
the  marquis.  He  spread  out  his  arms 
in  ecstasy,  as  if  he  would  clasp  the 
whole  lovely  picture  to  his  breast; 
then,  turning  his  eyes  to  heaven,  he 
exclaimed,  "  O  God !  grant  that  my 
king  may  be  happy  in  this  consecrated 
spot ! " 

"  Happy  ?  "  repeated  Frederick,  with 
a  slight  shrug.  "  Say  content,  marquis. 
I  believe  that  is  the  highest  point  any 
man  attains  upon  this  earth.  And  now 
let  us  enter  the  house." 

He  took  the  arm  of  the  marquis,  and 
then  stepped  over  the  golden  sand  to 
the  large  glass  door  which  led. to  the 
round  saloon.  As  Frederick  opened 
the  door  he  fixed  his  great  blue  eyes 
steadily  upon  D'Argens. 

"Pray!  marquis,  pray! — we  stand 
upon  the  threshold  of  a  new  existence, 
which  now  opens  her  mystarious  portals 
to  us." 

"  Sire,  my  every  thought  is  a  prayer 
for  you  at  this  moment." 

They  entered  the  oblong  saloon. 

"  This  is  the  room  which  separates 
me  from  my  friends,"  said  the  king. 
"  On  this  side  of  the  house  I  will  dwell ; 
that  side  is  for  the  use  of  my  friends, 
above  aL  others,  dear  marquis,  for  you. 
In  this  saloon  we  will  meet  together, 
and  here  will  be  my  symposium.    Now 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT   AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


21S 


I  will  show  you  my  own  room,  then  the 
others." 

In  the  reception-room,  which  was 
aclomed  with  taste  and  splendor,  Fred- 
erick remained  but  a  few  moments ;  he 
scarcely  allowed  his  artistic  friend  a 
fleeting  glance  at  the  superb  pictures 
which  hung  upon  the  walls,  and  for 
the  selection  of  which  he  had  sent  the 
merchant  Gotzkowsky  several  times  to 
Italy ;  he  gave  him  no  time  to  look 
upon  the  statues  and  vases  of  the 
Poniatowsken  Gallery,  for  which  four 
hundred  thousand  thalers  had  been 
paid,  but  hurried  him  along. 

"You  must  first  see  my  work-room," 
eaid  Frederick  ;  "  afterward  we  wiU 
examine  the  rest." 

He  opened  a  door  and  conducted  the 
marquis  into  the  round  library,  which 
had  no  other  adoraiug  than  that  of 
books;  they  stood  arrayed  in  lofty 
cases  around  this  temple  of  intellect,  of 
art,  and  science,  and  even  the  door 
through  which  they  had  entered,  and 
which  the  king  had  lightly  pressed 
back,  had  now  entirely  disappeared 
behind  the  books,  'svith  which  it  was 
cunningly  covered  on  the  inside. 

"  You  see,"  said  Frederick,  "  he  who 
enters  into  this  magic  circle  is  confined 
for  life.  He  cannot  get  out,  and  I  will 
have  it  so.  "With  this  day  begins  a  new 
existence  for  me,  D'Argens.  When  I 
crossed  the  threshold  the  past  fell  from 
me  like  an  overripe  fruit." 

Frederick's  face  was  sad,  his  eye 
clouded :  with  a  light  sigh  he  laid  his 
hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  marquis 
and  looked  at  him  long  imd  silently. 

"  I  wish  to  tell  you  a  secret,"  said  he 
at  last.  "  I  believe  my  heart  died  yes- 
terday, and  I  confess  to  you  the  death- 
struggle  was  hard.  Now  it  is  past,  but 
the  place  where  my  heart  once  beat  is 
5ore,  and  bleeds  yet  from  a  thousand 
•vounds.  They  will  heal  at  last,  and 
then  I  shall  be  a  hard  and  hardened 
man.    We  will  speak  no  more  of  it." 


"  No,  sire,  you  shall  not  say  that  you 
will  ever  be  hardened,  ■"  cried  D'Argens, 
deeply  moved.  "You  dare  not  slander 
your  heart  and  say  that  it  is  dead.  It 
beats,  and  will  ever  beat,  for  your 
friends,  for  the  whole  world,  for  all 
that  is  great,  and  glorious,  and  ex- 
alted." 

"  Only  no  longer  for  love,"  said  the 
king ;  "  that  is  a  withered  rose  which  I 
have  cast  from  me.  The  roses  of  love 
are  not  in  harmony  with  thrones  or 
crowns;  they  grow  too  high  and 
climb  over,  or  their  soft  rosy  leaves  are 
crushed.  I  owe  it  to  my  people  td 
keep  myself  free  from  all  chains,  and 
make  my  reign  glorious.  I  will  never 
give  them  occasion  to  say  that  I  have 
been  an  idle  and  self-indulgent  savant. 
I  dedicate  to  Prussia  my  strength  and 
my  life.  But  here,  friend,  here  in  my 
cloister,  which,  like  the  Convent  of  the 
Carmelites,  shall  never  l^e  desecrated 
by  a  woman's  foot ;  here  we  will,  from 
time  to  time,  forget  all  the  pomps  and 
glories  of  the  world,  and  all  its  vanities. 
Here,  upon  my  Weinberg,  I  will  not  be 
a  king,  but  a  friend  and  a  philoso- 
pher." 

"  And  a  poet,"  said  D'Ajgenfc,  in 
loving  tones.  "  I  will  now  recall  a 
couplet  to  the  poet-king,  which  he 
once  repeated  to  me,  when  I  was  mel- 
ancholy— almost  hopeless : 

'  Nous  avons  denx  moments  k  vi  vre ; 
Qa'll  en  soit  un  poar  Ic  plalsir.'  " 

"  Can  you  believe  that  we  have  not 
already  exhausted  this  moment?  "  said 
Frederick,  with  a  sad  smile.  Then, 
after  a  short  pause,  his  face  lightened 
and  his  eye  glowed  with  its  wonted 
fire  ;  a  gay  resolve  was  written  in  his 
countenance.  "  Well,  let  us  try,  mar- 
quis, if  you  are  right ;  let  us  seek  to 
extend  this  moment  as  long  as  possible, 
and  when  death  comes — 

Finissons  eanstronbl?,  et  monrons  sans  regrets, 
En  laissant  I'univers,  0<>mbl6  de  nos  Menfaits. 
Aiusi  I'astre  du  jour  au  bout  de  sa  carridre, 


216 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI 


Kepand  snr  I'horizon  une  donco  lumlfere, 

Et  los  demlers  rayons  qu'U  darde  dans  les  airs, 

Sont  ses  derniers  soupirs  qu"il  donne  a  Tunlvers." 

The  marquis  listened  with  rapture  to 
this  improvised  poem  of  the  king. 
When  it  was  concluded  the  fiery  Pro- 
ven9al  called  out,  in  an  ecstasy  of  en- 
thusiasm :  "You  are  not  a  mere  mortal, 
sire;  you  are  a  king — a  hero — yes,  a 
demi-god ! " 

"  I  will  show  you  something  to  dis- 
prove your  flattering  words,"  said 
Frederick,  smiling.  "Look  out,  dear 
D'Argens;  what  do  you  see,  there,  di- 
rectly opposite  to  the  window  ?  " 

"Does  your  majesty  mean  that  beau- 
tiful statue  in  marble  ? " 

"  Yes,  marquis.  What  do  you  sup- 
pose that  to  be  ?  " 

"  That,  sire  ?  It  is  a  reclining  statue 
of  Flora." 

"  No,  D'Argens ;  that  is  my  grave  ! " 

"Your  grave,  sire?"  said  the  mar- 
quis, shuddering ;  "and  you  have  had 
it  placed  exactly  before  the  window  of 
your  favorite  study  ?  " 

"Exactly  there;  that  I  may  keep 
death  always  in  remembrance  !  Come, 
marquis,  we  will  draw  nearer." 

They  left  the  house,  and  advanced 


to  the  Rondel,  where  the  superb  statue 
of  Flora  was  reclining. 

"  There,  under  this  marble  form,  is 
the  vault  in  which  I  shall  lie  down  to 
sleep,"  said  Frederick.  "I  began  my 
building  at  Weinberg  with  this  vault. 
But  it  is  a  profound  secret ;  guard  it 
well,  also,  dear  friend !  The  living  have 
a  holy  horror  of  death  ;  it  is  not  well  to 
speak  of  graves  or  death  lightly  !  " 

D'Argens'  eyes  were  filled  with  tears. 
"  Oh,  sire  !  may  this  marble  lie  immov- 
able, and  the  grave  beneath  it  be  a 
mystery  for  many  long  years !  " 

The  king  shook  his  head  lightly,  and 
a  heavenly  peace  was  written  on  his 
features.  "  Why  do  you  wish  that  ? " 
said  he.  Then  pointing  to  the  grave 
he  said  :  "  When  I  lie  there — Je  seraia 
sans  souci  !  "  * 

"  Sans  souci  !  "  repeated  D'Argens,  in 
low  tones,  deeply  moved,  and  staring 
at  the  vault. 

The  king  took  his  hand  smilingly. 
"  Let  us  seek,  even  while  we  live,  to  be 
sans  souci,  and  as  evidence  that  I  will 
strive  for  this,  this  house  shall  be  called 
'Sans-Souci."'' 

*  Kieolai,  "  Anecdotes  of  King  Fredei^ck." 


BOOK   IV. 


CHAPTER  L 


THE     PROMI SE, 


It  was  a  lovely  summer  day.  The 
whole  earth  seemed  to  look  up  with  a 
smile  of  faith,  love,  and  hapjjiness,  into 
the  clear,  blue  heavens,  whose  mysteri- 
ous depths  give  promise  of  a  brighter 
and  better  future.  Sunshine  and  clouds 
were  mirrored  in  the  rapid  river  and 
murmuring  brook ;  the  stately  trees  and 
odorous  flowers  bowed  with  the  gentle 
west  wind,  and  gave  a  love-greeting  to 
the  glorious  vault  above. 

Upon  the  terrace  of  Sans-Souci  stood 
the  king,  and  looked  admiringly  upon 
the  lovely  panorama  spread  out  at  his 
feet.  Nature  and  art  combined  to  make 
this  spot  a  paradise.  The  king  was 
alone  at  the  palace  of  Sans-Souci ;  for 
a  few  happy  hours  he  had  laid  aside  the 
burden  and  pomp  of  royalty.  He  was 
now  the  scholar,  the  philosopher,  the 
sage,  and  the  friend  ;  in  one  word,  he 
was  what  he  loved  to  call  himself  the 
genial  abbot  of  Sans-Souci, 

At  the  foot  of  the  romantic  hill  upon 
which  his  palace  was  built  Frederick 
laid  aside  the  vain  pomp  and  glory  of 
the  world,  and  with  them  all  its  petty 
cares  and  griefs.  With  every  step  upon 
the  terrace  his  countenance  lightened 
and  his  breath  came  more  fireely.    He 


had  left  the  valley  of  tears  and  ascended 
the  holy  mountain.  Repose  and  purity 
were  around  him,  and  he  felt  nearer  the 
God  of  creation. 

Sans-Souci,  now  glittering  in  the  sun- 
shine, seemed  to  greet  and  cheer  him. 
These  two  laconic  but  expressive  words, 
mns  souci,  smoothed  the  lines  which 
the  crown  and  its  duties  had  laid  upon 
his  brow,  and  made  his  heart,  which 
was  so  cold  and  weary,  beat  with  the 
hopes  and  strength  of  youth  !  He  waa 
himself  again,  the  warrior,  the  sage,  the 
loving  ruler,  the  just  king,  the  philan- 
thropist, the  faithful,  fond  friend  ;  the 
gay,  witty,  sarcastic  companion,  who 
felt  himself  most  at  home,  most  happy, 
in  the  society  of  scholars,  artists,  and 
writers. 

Genius  was  for  Frederick  an  all-suffi- 
cient diploma,  and  those  who  possessed 
it  were  joyfully  received  at  his  court. 
If,  from  time  to  time,  he  granted  a  coat- 
of-arms,  or  a  duke's  diadem,  to  those 
nobles,  "  by  the  grace  of  God,"  it  was 
not  so  much  to  do  them  honor  as  to 
exalt  his  courtiers  by  placing  among 
them  the  great  and  intellectual  spirits 
of  the  time.  He  had  made  AJgarotti 
and  Chazot  dukes,  and  Bielfeld  a  baron; 
he  had  sent  to  Voltaire  the  keys  of  the 
wardrobe  in  order  that  the  chosen  friend 
of  the  philosopher  of  Sans-Souci  might 
without  a  shock  to  etiquette  be  also  the 
companion  of  the  King  of  Prussia  in 


218 


BERLIN    A.ND  SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


hia  more  princely  castles,  and  belong 
to  the  circle  of  prince,  and  princess,  and 
noble. 

When  Frederick  entered  Sans-Souci 
he  laid  aside  all  prejudices  and  all  con- 
sideration of  rank.  He  wished  to  for- 
get that  he  was  king,  and  desired  his 
friends  also  to  forget  it,  and  to  show 
him  only  that  consideration  which  is 
due  to  the  man  of  genius  and  of  letters. 
Some  of  his  friends  had  abused  this 
privilege,  and  Frederick  had  been 
forced  to  humiliate  them.  There  were 
others  who  never  forgot  at  Sans-Souci 
the  respect  and  reverence  due  to  the 
royal  house.  Amongst  these  was  his 
ever-devoted,  ever-uniform  friend,  the 
Marquis  d'Argens.  He  loved  him,  not 
because  he  was  king,  but  because  he  be- 
lieved him  to  be  the  greatest,  best,  most 
exalted  of  men.  In  the  midst  of  his 
brilliant  court  circle  and  all  his  earthly 
pomp,  D'Argens  did  not  forget  that 
Frederick  was  a  man  of  letters,  and  his 
dear  friend  ;  even  so,  while  enjoying  the 
hospitalities  of  Sans-Souci,  he  remem- 
bered always  that  the  genial  scholar 
and  gentleman  was  a  great  and  power- 
ful king. 

Frederick  had  the  greatest  confidence 
in  D'Argens,  and  granted  him  more 
privileges  than  any  other  of  his  friends. 
Frederick  invited  many  friends  to  visit 
him  during  the  day,  but  the  marquis 
was  the  only  guest  whose  bedchamber 
was  arranged  for  him  at  Sans-Souci. 

Four  years  have  elapsed  since  D'Ar- 
gens consecrated  Weinberg — since  the 
day  in  which  we  closed  our  last  chapter. 
We  take  advantage  of  the  liberty  al- 
lowed to  authors,  and  pass  over  these 
four  years  and  recommeuce  our  story  in 
1750,  the  year  which  historians  are  ac- 
customed to  consider  the  most  glorious 
and  happy  in  the  life  of  Frederick  the 
Second.  We  all  know,  alas !  that  earth- 
ly happiness  resembles  the  purple  rose, 
which,  even  while  rejoicing  the  heart 
with  her  beauty  and  fragrance,  wounds 


us  with  her  thorns.  We  know  that  the 
sunshine  makes  the  flowers  bloom  in 
gardens,  (m  the  breezy  mountains,  and 
also  on  the  graves;  when  we  jDluck  and 
wear  these  roses,  who  can  dec,ide  if  we 
are  influenced  by  joy  in  the  present  or 
sad  remembrances  of  the  past? 

Frederick  the  Great  appeared  to  be 
gay  and  happy,  but  these  four  years  had 
not  passed  away  without  leaving  a 
mark  upon  his  brow  and  a  shadow  on 
his  heart ;  his  youthful  smile  had  van- 
ished, and  the  expression  of  his  lip  was 
stern  and  resolved.  He  was  now  thirty- 
eight  years  of  age,  and  was  still  a  hand- 
some man,  but  the  sunshine  of  life  had 
left  him ;  his  eyes  could  flash  and 
threaten  like  Jove's,  but  the  soft  and 
loving  glance  was  quenched.  Like 
Polycrates,  King  Frederick,  in  order  to 
propitiate  fate,  had  sacrificed  his  idol. 
He  had  thus  lost  his  rarest  jewel,  had 
become  poor  in  love.  Perhaps  his  crown 
rested  more  firmly  upon  his  head,  biit 
his  heart  had  received  an  almost  mortal 
wound ;  it  had  healed,  but  he  was 
hardened ! 

Frederick  thought  not  of  the  past 
four  years,  and  their  griefs  and  losses, 
as  he  stood  now  upon  the  terrace  of 
Sans-Souci,  illuminated  by  the  evening 
sun,  and  gazed  with  ravished  eyes  upon 
the  panorama  spread  fjut  before  him. 

"  Beautiful,  wondrous  beautiful ! "  he 
said  to  himself.  "  I  think  Voltaire  will 
find  that  the  sun  is  even  as  warm  and 
cheering  at  Sans-Souci  as  at  Cirey,  and 
that  we  can  be  gay  and  happy  without 
the  presence  of  the  divine  Emilie,  who 
enters  one  moment  with  her  children, 
and  the  next  with  her  learned  and  ab- 
struse books.*    Ah !  I  wish  he  were 

*  Voltaiie  lived  for  ten  years  In  Olrey  with  his 
friend  the  Marquise  Euiilie  de  Chatelet  Samont,  a 
very  learni'd  lady,  to  whom  he  was  much  devoted. 
He  had  refused  all  Frederick's  invitations  because 
he  was  unwilling  to  be  separated  from  this  lady. 
After  twenty  years  of  tnaniage,  in  the  year  1749,  tho 
countess  gave  birth  to  her  first  child  ;  two  hours 
ifter  the  birth  of  her  son,  she  seated  hereolf  i<*  \>«t 


FREDERICK   THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


219 


acre;  so  long  as  I  do  not  see  him,  I 
doubt  if  he  will  come." 

At  this  moment  tlie  king  saw  the 
shadow  of  a  manly  figure  thrown  upon 
tue  terrace,  which  the  evening  sun 
lengthened  into  a  giant's  stature.  He 
turned  and  greeted  the  Marquis  d'Ar- 
gens,  who  had  just  entered,  with  a  gra- 
cious smile. 

"  You  are  indeed  kind,  marquis," 
said  Frederick ;  "  you  have  returned 
from  Berlin  so  quickly,  I  think  Love 
must  have  lent  you  a  pair  of  winga.'' 

"  Certainly,  Love  lent  me  his  wings ; 
the  little  god  knew  that  your  majesty 
was  the  object  of  my  greatest  admira- 
tion, and  that  I  wished  to  fly  to  your 
feet  and  shake  out  from  my  horn  of 
plenty  the  novelties  and  news  of  the 
day." 

"There  is  something  new,  then?" 
said  the  king.  "  I  have  done  well  in  send- 
ing you  as  an  ambassador  to  the  Goddess 
of  Rumor ;  she  has  graciously  sent  you 
back  full-handed:  let  us  see,  now,  in 
what  your  budget  consists." 

"  The  first,  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  the 
most  welcome  to  your  majesty,  is  this 
— Voltaire  has  arrived  in  Berlin,  and 
will  be  here  to-morrow  morning." 

The  king's  countenance  was  radi- 
ant with  delight,  but  he  was  con- 
siderate, and  did  not  express  his  rap- 
ture. 

"  Dear  marquis,  you  say  that  Vol- 
taire has  arrived.  Do  you  indeed  re- 
gret it  ? " 

D'Argens  was  silent  and  thoughtful 
for  a  moment ;  he  raised  his  head,  and 
his  eyes  were  obscured  by  tears. 

''  Yes,"  said  he,  '•  I  am  sorry  !  We 
greet  the  close  of  a  lovely  day,  no  mat- 
ter how  glorious  the  declining  sun  may 
oe,  with  something  of  fear  and  regret ; 
who  can  tell  but  that  clouds  and  dark- 


vntinst-table  to  write  an  essay  on  the  Newtonian 
system;  ia  consequence  of  this  she  sickened  and 
died  in  two  days.  After  her  death,  Voltaire  accept- 
ed Frederick's  invitation  to  Sans-Souci. 


ness  may  be  round  about  the  morning  ? 
To-morrow  a  new  day  dawns  and  anew 
i  sun  rises  in  Sans-Souci.  Sire,  I  grieve 
that  this  happy  day  is  ended." 

"Jealous!"  said  the  king,  folding  his 
arms  and  walking  backward  and  for- 
ward upon  the  terrace.  Suddenly  he 
stood  before  D'Argens  and  laid  his 
hands  upon  his  shoulders.  "  You  are 
right,"  said  he ;  "a  new  day  dawns,  a 
new  sun  rises  upon  Sans-Souci,  but  1 
fear  the  sun's  bright  face  will  be  cloud- 
ed and  the  day  will  end  in  storm.  Vol- 
taire is  the  last  ideal  of  my  youth ;  God 
grant  that  I  may  not  have  to  cast  it 
aside  with  my  other  vain  illusions  1 
God  grant  that  the  man  Voltaire  may 
not  cast  down  the  genius  Voltake  from 
the  altar  which,  with  willing  hands,  I 
have  erected  for  him  in  my  heart  of 
hearts!  I  fear  the  cynic  and  the  miser. 
I  have  a  presentiment  of  evil !  My  al- 
tar will  fall  to  pieces,  and  its  ruins  will 
crush  my  own  heart.  Say  what  you 
will,  D'Argens,  I  have  still  a  heart, 
though  the  world  has  gnawed  at  and 
undermined  it  fearfully." 

"Yes,  sii-e,  a  great,  noble,  warm 
heart,"  cried  D'Argens,  deeply  moved, 
"  full  of  love  and  poetry,  of  magnanim- 
ty  and  mercy  !  " 

"You  must  not  betray  these  weak- 
nesses to  Voltaire,"  said  the  king,  laugh- 
ing ; "  he  would  mock  at  me,  and  I  should 
suffer  from  his  poisonous  satire,  as  I 
have  done  more  than  once.  Voltaire 
is  miserly ;  that  displeases  me.  Covct- 
ousness  is  a  rust  which  will  obscure 
and  at  last  destroy  the  finest  metal ! 
The  miser  loves  nothing  but  himself 
I  fear  that  Voltaire  comes  to  me  simply 
for  the  salary  I  have  promised  him,  and 
the  four  thousand  tlialers  I  have  sent 
him  for  his  journey  !  " 

"In  this,  sire,  you  do  both  your- 
self and  Voltaire  injustice.  Voltaire  is 
genial  enough  to  look,  not  upon  your 
crown,  but  upon  the  clear  brow  which 
it  shades.    He  admires  and  seeks  you, 


220 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


not  because  you  are  a  king,  but  because 
you  are  a  great  spirit,  a  hero,  an  author, 
a  scholar,  and  a  philc-3opher,  and,  best 
of  all,  a  good  and  noble  man." 

"What  a  simple-minded  child  you 
are,  marquis ! "  said  Frederick,  with 
a  sad  smile ;  "  you  believe  even  yet 
in  the  unselfish  attachments  of  men. 
Truly,  you  have  a  right  to  this  rare 
faith ;  you  at  least  are  capable  of  such 
an  affection.  I  am  vain  enough  to  be- 
lieve that  you  are  unselfishly  devoted 
to  me." 

"  God  be  thanked  for  this  word  !  " 
said  D'Argens,  with  a  glowing  counte- 
nance. "And  now  let  Voltaire  and  the 
seven  wise  men,  and  Father  Abraham 
himself,  come ;  your  Isaac  fears  none  of 
them ;  my  king  has  faith  in  me  I  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Frederick,  "  I  believe  in 
you  ;  an  evil  and  bitter  thing  will  it  be, 
if  the  day  shall  ever  come  when  I  shall 
doubt  you;  from  that  time  onward  I 
will  trust  no  man.  I  tell  you,  D'Ar- 
gens, your  kindly  face  and  your  love 
are  necessary  to  me ;  I  will  use  them 
as  a  shield  to  protect  myself  against 
the  darts  and  wiles  of  the  false  world. 
You  must  never  leave  me ;  I  need  your 
calm,  kind  eye,  your  happy  smile, 
your  childish  simplicity,  and  your  wise 
experience ;  I  need  a  Pylades,  I  well  be- 
lieve that  something  of  Orestes  is  hid- 
den in  my  nature.  And  now,  my  Py- 
lades, swear  to  me,  swear  to  me  that 
you  will  never  leave  me;  that  from 
this  hour  you  will  have  no  other  father- 
land than  Prussia,  no  other  home  than 
Potsdam  and  Sans-Souci." 

"  Ah,  your  majesty  asks  too  much.  I 
cannot  abjure  my  fatherland,  I  cannot 
relinquish  my  Provence.  I  am  the 
Switzer,  with  his  song  of  home ;  when 
he  hears  it  in  his  own  land,  his  heart 
bounds  with  joy;  when  he  hears  it  in 
a  strange  land,  his  eyes  fill  with  sorrow- 
ful tears.  So  is  it  with  the  '  beau  soleil 
de  ma  Provence,^  the  remembrance  of  it 
warms  my  heart ;  I  think  that  if  I  were 


a  weak  old  man,  the  sight  of  my  beau- 
tiful sunny  home  would  make  Uie  young 
and  strong.  Your  majesty  will  rot  ask 
me  to  abandon  my  land  forever  ? " 

"  You  love  the  sun  of  Provence, 
then,  more  than  you  do  me,"  said  Fred- 
erick, with  a  slight  frown. 

"  Your  majesty  cannot  justly  say 
that,  when  I  have  turned  my  back  upon 
it,  and  shouted  for  joy  when  the  sun  of 
the  north  has  cast  its  rays  upon  me. 
Sire,  let  me  pass  my  life  under  the  glo- 
rious northern  sun,  but  grant  that  I 
may  die  in  my  ow^n  land." 

'•  You  are  incomprehensible,  D'Ar- 
gens ;  how  can  you  know  when  you  are 
about  to  die,  and  when  it  will  be  time 
to  return  to  your  beautiful  Provence?  " 

"  It  has  been  prophesied  that  I  shall 
live  to  be  very  old,  and  I  believe  in 
prophecy." 

"What  do  you  call  old,  marquis? 
Zacharias  was  eighty  years  of  age  when 
his  youthful  wife  of  seventeen  gave 
birth  to  her  first  child." 

"  God  guard  me  from  such  an  over- 
ripe youth  and  such  a  youthful  wife, 
sire  !  I  shall  be  content  if  my  heart  re- 
mams  young  till  my  seventieth  year, 
and  has  strength  to  love  my  king  and 
rejoice  in  his  fame;  then,  sire,  I  shall 
be  aged  and  cold,  and  then  it  will  be 
time  for  the  sun  of  Provence  to  shine 
upon  me  and  my  grave.  When  I  am 
seventy  years  of  age,  your  majesty 
must  allow  your  faithful  servant  to  re- 
member that  France  is  his  home,  and 
to  seek  his  grave  even  where  his  cradle 
stood." 

"  Seventy,  marquis !  and  how  old  are 
you  now  ? " 

"  Sire,  I  am  still  young — forty-six 
years  of  age.  You  see  I  have  only 
sought  a  plea  to  remain  half  an  eternity 
at  the  feet  of  your  majesty." 

"  You  are  forty-six,  and  you  are  will- 
ing to  remain  twenty-four  yeai's  at  my 
side.  I  shall  then  be  sixty-six ;  that  is 
to  say,  I  will  be  hare?  of  heart  and  cold 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


221 


uf  purpose.  1  -will  despise  mankind, 
and  have  no  illusions.  Marquis,  I  be- 
lieve when  that  time  comes,  I  can  give 
you  up.  Let  it  be  so ! — ^you  remain 
with  me  till  you  are  seventy.  Give 
your  word  of  honor  to  this,  marquis," 

"  Rather  will  your  majesty  be  gra- 
cious euough  to  promise  not  to  dismiss 
me  before  that  time  ? " 

"  I  promise  you,  and  I  must  have 
your  oath  in  return." 

"  Ske,  I  swear !  On  that  day  in 
which  I  enter  my  seventieth  year,  I  will 
send  you  ray  certificate  of  baptism, 
which  you  will  also  look  upon  as  ray 
funeral  notice.  You  will  say  sadly, 
'  The  Marquis  d'  Argens  is  dead,'  and 
I — I  will  go  to  ma  lelle  Provence^  and 
seek  my  grave."  * 

"  But  before  this  time  you  will  be- 
come very  religious,  a  devotee,  will  you 
not?" 

"  Yes,  sire ;  that  is,  I  shall  devoutly 
acknowledge  all  your  goodness  to  me. 
I  shall  be  the  most  religious  worshipper 
of  all  that  your  majesty  has  done  for 
the  good  of  mankind,  for  the  advance- 
ment of  true  knowledge,  and  the  glory 
of  your  great  name." 

"  So  far,  so  good ;  but  there  is  in  this 
world  another  kind  of  religion,  in  the 
exercise  of  which  you  have  as  yet 
shown  but  little  zeal.  Will  you  at  last 
assume  this  mask,  and  contradict  the 
principles  which  you  have  striven  to 
maintain  during  your  whole  life  ?  Will 
you,  at  the  approach  of  death,  go 
through  with  those  ceremonies  and  ob- 
servances which  religion  commands?" 

The  marquis  did  not  reply  immedi- 
ately. His  eye  turned  to  the  beautiful 
prospect  lying  at  his  feet,  upon  which 
the  last  purple  rays  of  the  evening  sun 
were  now  lingering. 

"  This  is  God,  sire ! "  said  he,  en- 
thusiastically;"  this  is  truly  God! 
Why  are  not  men  content  to  worship 

♦  Thlebault,  vol.  i,  p.  360. 


llim  in  nature,  to  find  Him  where  He 
most  assuredly  is  ?  Why  do  they  seek 
Him  in  houses  made  with  hands, 
and—" 

"  And  in  wafers  made  of  meal  and 
water?"  said  Frederick,  interrupting 
him ;  "  and  now  tell  me,  raarquis,  will 
you  also  one  day  seek  flim  thus?" 

■'  Yes,  sire,"  said  D' Argens,  after  a 
short  i)ause, "  I  will  do  thus  from 
friendship  to  my  brothers,  and  interest 
for  my  family." 

"  That  is  to  say,  you  will  be  unfaith- 
ful to  the  interest  of  philosophy  and 
truth  ? " 

"  It  will  appear  so,  sire ;  but  no  man 
of  intellect  and  thought  will  be  duped 
by  this  seeming  inconsistency.  If  the 
part  which  I  play  seem  unworthy,  I 
may  be  excused  in  view  of  my  motive — 
at  all  events,  I  do  not  think  it  wrong. 
The  folly  of  mankind  has  left  me  but 
one  alternative — to  be  a  hypocrite,  or  to 
prei^are  bitter  grief  for  my  relations, 
who  love  me  tenderly.  '  Out  of  love,' 
then,  for  my  family,  I  will  die  a  hypo- 
crite.* But,  sire,  why  should  we  speak 
of  death  ?  why  disquiet  the  laughing 
spirits  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  who 
now  inhabit  this  their  newest  temple  by 
discoursing  of  graves  and  skeletons  ?  " 

"  You  are  right,  marquis — away  with 
the  ghastly  spectre  !  This  present  life 
belongs  to  us,  and  a  happy  life  it  shall 
be.  We  will  sit  at  the  feet  of  Voltaire, 
and  learn  how  to  banish  the  sorrows  of 

*  The  marquis  returned  to  Provence,  in  his  seven- 
tieth year,  and  died  there.  The  journals  hastened 
to  malie  Icnowu  that  ho  died  a  Christian,  recanting 
his  atheistical  philosophy.  The  king  wrote  to  the 
widow  of  the  marquis  for  intelligence  on  this  sub- 
ject. She  replied  that  her  husbaud  had  received 
the  last  sacraments,  but  only  after  ho  was  in  the 
arms  of  death,  and  could  neither  see  nor  hear,  and 
she  herself  had  left  the  room.  The  marquise 
added :  "  Ah,  sire,  what  a  land  is  this  1  I  have 
been  assured  that  the  greatest  service  I  could 
render  to  my  husband  ■i^onld  be  to  burn  all  his 
writings,  to  give  all  his  pictures  to  the  flames ;  that 
the  more  we  bum  on  earth  of  that  which  is  sinful 
or  l^ads  to  sin,  the  less  we  shall  bum  Jn  belli  "— 
CEuvres  Fosthumes,  voL  xiL,  p.  316. 


222 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


life  by  -wit  and  mocking  laughter. 
With  the  imagination  and  enthusiasm 
of  poets,  we  will  conceive  this  world  to 
be  a  paradise.  And  now  tell  me  what 
other  news  you  have  brought  back  with 
you  from  Berlin.-' 

"Well,  sire,  Voltaire  is  not  th«»  only 
star  who  has  risen  in  Berlin.  There  are 
other  comets  which  from  time  tc  time 
lighten  the  heavens,  and  then  disappear 
for  a  season,  to  reappear  and  bring  strife 
and  war  upon  the  earth." 

Frederick  looked  searchingly  upon 
the  marquis.  "  You  speak  in  riddles — 
what  comet  has  returned  ? " 

"  Sire,  I  know  not  what  to  call  it. 
She  herself  claims  a  name,  her  right  to 
which  is  disputed  by  the  whole  world, 
though  she  swears  by  it." 

"  She  ?  it  is,  then,  a  woman  of  whom 
you  speak  ? " 

"  Yes,  sire :  a  woman  whom  for 
years  we  worshipped  as  a  goddess,  or 
at  least  as  an  enchanting  fairy — Barba- 
rina  has  returned  to  Berlin." 

"  Returned  ?  "  said  the  king,  indiffer- 
ently ;  but  he  walked  away  thought- 
fully to  the  end  of  the  terrace,  and 
gazed  upon  the  lovely  landscape  which, 
in  its  quiet  beauty,  brought  peace  to 
his  heart,  and  gave  him  the  power  of 
self-control. 

The  marquis  stood  ajjart,  and  looked 
with  kindly  interest  upon  his  noble 
face,  now  lighted  by  the  glad  golden 
rays  of  the  sinking  sun.  Among  the 
trees  arose  one  of  those  fierce,  sighing 
winds,  which  often  accompany  the  de- 
clining sun,  and  seem  the  last  struggling 
groan  of  the  dying  day.  Tliis  melan- 
choly s<;und  broke  the  peaceful  still- 
ness around  the  castle,  and  drowned 
the  babbling  of  the  brooks  and  cas- 
cades. As  the  wild  wind  rushed 
madly  through  the  trees,  it  tore  fi-om 
their  green  boughs  the  first  faded,  yel- 
low leaves  which  had  lain  concealed, 
like  the  first  white  hairs  on  the  temples 
of  a  beautiful  woman,  and  drove  them 


here  and  there  in  wanton  sport.  One 
of  these  withered  leaves  fell  at  the  feet 
of  the  king.  He  took  it  up  and  gazed 
at  it.  Pensively  he  drew  near  the 
marquis. 

"  Look  you,  friend,"  said  he,  holding 
up  the  fallen  leaf  toward  the  marquis; 
"  look  you,  this  is  to  me  the  Barbarina 
— a  faded  remembrance  of  the  happy 
past,  and  nothing  more.  Homer  was 
right  when  he  likened  the  hearts  of 
men  to  the  yellow  leaves  tossed  and 
driven  by  the  winds.  Even  such  a  leaf 
is  Barbarina  ;  I  raise  it  and  lay  it  in  my 
herbarium  with  other  mementoes,  and 
rejoice  that  the  dust  and  ashes  of  life 
have  fallen  upon  it,  and  taken  from  it 
form  and  color.  And  now  that  you 
know  this,  D'Argens,  tell  me  franklv 
why  the  signora  has  returned.  Does 
she  come  alone,  or  with  her  husband, 
Lord  Stuart  McKenzie  ?  " 

"  She  has  returned  with  her  sister, 
and  Lord  Stuart  is  not  her  husband.  It 
is  said  that  when  Barbarina  arrived  in 
England,  she  found  him  just  married  to 
a  rich  Scotch  lady." 

The  king  laughed  heartily.  "  And 
yet  men  expect  us  to  listen  gravely 
when  they  rave  of  the  eternity  of  their 
love,"  said  he.  "  This  little  sentimental 
lord  called  heaven  and  earth  to  wit- 
ness the  might  of  his  love  for  Barba- 
rina. Was  he  not  almost  a  madman 
when  I  seized  his  jewel,  and  tore  her 
away  from  Venice  ?  Did  he  not  de- 
clare that  he  would  consider  me  an- 
swerable for  his  life  and  reason,  if  I  did 
not  release  my  prima  donna  ?  He 
wished  her  to  enter,  with  an  artistic 
pirouette,  his  lofty  castle,  and  place  her- 
self, as  Lady  Stuart  McKenzie,  amongst 
his  ever-worthy,  ever-virtuous,  ever -re- 
nowned ancestors.  And  now,  Barba- 
rina can  stand  as  godmother  by  his 
first-born." 

"  Or  he  perform  that  holy  oflSce  for 
Barbarina.  It  is  said  that  she  u«  also 
married." 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT   AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


223 


"  To  whom  ?  " 

"  To  the  state  couHcillor,  Coccpji." 

"Folly  !  how  can  that  be?  She  has 
Dcen  in  England,  and  he  has  not  left 
Berlin.  But  her  return  will  bring  us 
vexation  and  strife,  and  I  see  already 
the  whole  dead  race  of  the  Cocccjis 
raising  up  their  skeleton  arms  from 
their  graves  to  threaten  the  bold  dancer, 
who  dares  to  call  herself  their  daugh- 
ter. I  prophesy  that  young  Cocceji  will 
become  even  as  cool  and  as  reasonable 
as  Lord  Stuart  JIcKcnzie  has  become. 
Give  a  man  time  to  let  the  fire  burn  out 
• — all  depends  upon  that.  This  favor 
his  family  may  well  demand  of  me,  and 
I  must  grant  it.  But  now  let  us  enter 
the  house,  marquis,  the  §un  has  disap- 
peared, and  I  am  chilled.  I  know  not 
whether  the  news  you  bring,  or  the 
evening  air,  has  affected  me.  Let  us 
walk  backward  and  forward  once  or 
twice,  and  then  we  will  go  to  the  li- 
brary, and  you  will  assist  me  in  the 
last  verse  of  a  poem  I  am  composing  to 
greet  Voltaire.  Do  not  frown,  marquis, 
let  me  sing  his  welcome ;  who  knows 
but  I  may  also  rejoice  in  his  departure  ? 
My  heart  is  glad  at  his  coming,  and 
yet  I  fear  it.  We  must  not  scrutinize 
the  sun  too  closely,  or  we  will  find 
spots  upon  his  glorious  face.  Perhaps 
Voltaire  and  myself  resemble  each  other 
too  much  to  live  in  peace  and  harmony 
together.  I  think  we  are  only  drawn 
permanently  to  our  opposites.  Believe 
me,  D'Argens,  I  shall  not  be  able  to  live 
twenty -four  years  happily  with  Vol- 
taii'e,  as  I  shall  surely  do  with  you. 
Twenty-four  years  !  do  not  forget  that 
you  are  mine  for  twenty-four  years." 

"  Sire,  as  long  as  I  live,  I  am  yours. 
You  have  not  bought  me  with  gold, 
but  by  the  power  of  a  noble  soul.  So 
long  as  I  live,  my  heart  belongs  to  you, 
even  when,  at  seventy,  I  fly  to  seek  my 
grave  in  helle  Provence.  But,  my  king, 
I  have  yet  another  favor  to  ask  of 
yoH." 


"  Speak,  marquis,  but  do  not  be  so 
cruel  as  to  ask  that  which  I  cannot 
grant." 

"If  it  shall  please  Providence  to  call 
me  away  before  I  have  attained  my 
seventieth  year,  if  I  die  in  Berlin,  will 
your  majesty  grant  me  the  grace  not 
to  be  buried  in  one  of  those  dark,  damp, 
dreary  churchyards,  where  skull  lies 
close  by  skull,  and  at  the  resurrection 
every  one  will  be  in  danger  of  seizing 
upon  the  bones  which  do  not  belong  to 
him,  and  appearing  as  a  thief  at  the 
last  judgment  ?  I  pray  you,  let  me 
remain  even  in  death  an  individual, 
and  not  be  utterly  lost  in  the  great 
crowd.  If  I  die  here,  grant  that  I  may 
be  buried  where,  when  living,  I  have 
been  most  happy.  Allow  me,  after  a 
long  and  active  day,  to  pass  the  night 
of  immortality  in  the  garden  of  Sans- 
Souci." 

"  It  shall  be  so,"  said  the  king,  much 
moved.  "There,  under  the  statue  of 
Flora,  is  my  grave  —  where  shall  be 
yours  ?    Choose  for  yourself" 

"  If  I  dare  choose,  sire,  let  it  be  there 
under  that  beautiful  vase  of  ebony." 

Frederick  gave  a  smiling  assent,  and 
taking  the  arm  of  the  marquis,  he  said, 
"  Come,  we  will  go  to  the  vase,  and  I 
will  lay  my  hand  upon  it  and  conse- 
crate it  to  you." 

Silently  they  passed  the  statue  of 
Flora,  which  Frederick  greeted  gayly, 
and  the  marquis  with  profound  rever- 
ence then  mounted  two  small  steps  and 
stood  upon  the  green  circle.  The  king 
paused  and  looked  down  thoughtfully 
upon  a  gravestone  which  his  feet  almost 
touched. 

"  Be  pious  and  prayerful  on  this  spot," 
said  he ;  "  we  stand  by  the  grave  of  my 
most  faithful  friend,  who  is  enjoying 
before  us  the  happiness  of  everlasting 
sleep.  Here  lies  Biche  1  Hat  ofi",  mar- 
quis !  She  loved  me,  and  was  faithful 
unto  death.  Who  knows  if  I,  under 
my  statue  of  Flora,   and   you,  undet 


224 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


your  yase,  will  merit  the  praise  which 
I,  with  my  whole  soul,  award  to  my 
Biche !  She  was  good  and  faithful  to 
the  end."  * 


CHAPTER  II. 

VOLTAIRE   AND   HIS  ROYAL   FRIEND. 

The  king  had  withdrawn  to  his  li- 
brary earlier  than  usual ;  he  had  at- 
tended a  cabinet  council,  worked  for  an 
hour  with  his  ministers  of  state,  and, 
after  fulfil  ling  these  public  duties,  with- 
drawn gladly  to  his  books  to  consume 
the  time  which  crept  along  with  leaden 
feet. 

The  king  expected  Voltaire;  —  he 
knew  he  had  arrived  at  Potsdam, 
where  he  would  rest  and  refresh  himself, 
for  a  few  hours,  and  then  proceed  at 
once  to  Sans-Souci. 

Frederick  regarded  this  first  meeting 
with  Voltaire,  after  long  years  of  sepa- 
ration, with  more  of  anxiety  than  of 
joyful  impatience.  Voltaire's  arrival 
and  residence  at  Sans-Souci  had  been 
the  warm  desire  of  Frederick's  heart 
for  many  years,  and  yet,  as  tlie  time  for 
its  fulfilment  drew  near,  the  king  al- 
most trembled.  What  did  this  mean  ? 
How  was  it  that  this  friendship,  which 
for  sixteen  years  had  been  so  publicly 
avowed,  and  so  zealously  confirmed  by 
private  oaths  and  protestations,  seemed 
now  wavering  and  uncertain  ? 

About  now  to  reach  the  goal  so  ar- 
dently striven  for,  the  king  felt  that  he 
was  not  pleased.  A  cold  blast  seemed 
to  sweep  over  him,  and  fill  him  with 
sad  presentiments, 

Frederick  was  filled  with  wonder 
and  admiration  for  the  genius  of  the 
great  French  writer,  but  he  knew  that, 
as  a  man,  Voltaire  was  unworthy  of  his 
friendship.     He  justly  feared  that  the 

•  Nlcolal,  "  Auc-cdoten,"— Heft,  p.  202. 


realities  of  life  and  daily  intercourse 
would  fall  like  a  cold  dew  upon  this 
rare  blossom  of  friendship  between  a 
king  and  a  poet ;  this  tender  plant 
which,  during  so  many  years  of  sepa- 
ration, they  had  nourished  and  kept 
warm  by  glowing  assurauces  and  fiery 
declarations,  must  now  be  removed  from 
the  hot-house  of  imagination,  where  it 
had  been  excited  to  false  growth  by  the 
eloquence  of  letters,  and  transplanted 
into  a  world  of  truth  and  soberness. 

This  friendship  had  no  real  founda- 
tion ;  it  floated  like  a  variegated  phantom 
in  the  air,  a/ato  morgana,  whose  glitter- 
ing temple  halls  and  pillars  would  soon 
melt  away  like  the  early  cloud  and  the 
morning  dew. ,  In  these  "  cloud-capped 
towers  and  gorgeous  palaces,"  the  two 
great  freethinkers  and  genial  philoso- 
phers of  their  century  intended  to  culti- 
vate and  enjoy  their  friendship.  In 
these  temples  of  air  they  wished  to  em- 
brace each  other,  but  the  two-edged 
sword  of  mistrust  and  suspici(jn  ah'eady 
flashed  between  them,  and  both  felt  in- 
clined to  draw  back. 

Both  doubted  the  sincerity  of  this 
friendship,  and  the  less  they  believed 
in  it  the  more  eloquently  they  declaimed 
as  to  its  ardor  and  eternity.  Each  one 
thought  to  himself,  "  I  will  enjoy  and 
profit  by  the  fruit  of  this  fiieudship,  I 
will  yield  up  the  blossoms  only."  The 
blossoms,  alas !  were  artificial,  without 
odor  and  already  fading,  though  at  the 
first  glance  they  looked  fresh  and  prom- 
ising. 

Once  in  the  youthful  ardor  of  his 
enthusiasm  for  genius,  Frederick  had 
forgotten  himself  so  far  as  to  kiss  the 
hand  of  Voltaire.*  The  proud  and 
ambitious  poet  had  boasted  loudly  of 
this  act  of  devotion  ;  for  this  Fi'ederick 
had  never  forgiven  hi  in  ;  he  should  have 
guarded  it  as  a  holy  and  dangerous  se- 
cret in  the  innermost  shrine  of  his  heart. 


*  Thi6bault, 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


225 


Voltaire  was  angry  witli  the  king,  be- 
cause lie  bad  lately  addressed  some 
verses  to  the  young  poet  D'Arnaud,  in 
which  he  was  represented  as  the  rising 
and  Voltaire  as  the  setting  sun.*  And 
yet  they  believed  they  loved  each  other, 
and  were  about  to  put  their  love  to  the 
severe  test  of  uninterrupted  intercourse. 
The  king  awaited  Voltaire  with  im- 
patience, and  now  he  heard  the  rolling 
of  carriage-wheels,  then  the  opening  of 
doors,  then  the  sound  of  voices.  In  the 
first  impulse  of  joy  he  sprang  from 
his  seat  and  advanced  eagerly  to  meet 
Voltaire,  but  reaching  the  threshold  of 
the  door  he  stood  still  and  considered. 
"  No,"  said  he,  "  I  will  not  go  to  meet 
him — he  would  mock  at  me,  perhaps 
boast  of  it."  He  turned  back  to  his 
chair,  and  took  up  the  book  he  had  been 
reading.  And  now  some  one  tapped 
gently  upon  the  door,  a  servant  appeared 
and  announced  "  Monsieur  Voltaire," 
and  now  a  figure  stood  upon  the  door- 
sill. 

Tliis  man,  with  small,  contracted 
chest,  with  a  back  bowed  down  by  old 
age  or  infirmities ;  this  man,  with  the 
wondrous  countenance,  of  which  no  one 
could  decide  if  it  was  the  face  of  a  satyr 
or  a  demigod ;  whose  eyes  flashed  with 
heavenly  inspiration  at  one  moment,  and 
in  the  next  glowed  with  demoniac  fire ; 
whose  lips  were  distorted  by  the  most 
frightful  grimaces  or  relaxed  into  the 
most  enchanting  smiles — this  man  is 
Voltaire. 

As  Frederick's  glance  met  those  burn- 
ing eyes,  he  forgot  all  else,  his  royalty, 
Ms  dignity,  even  Voltaire's  baseness  and 
vanity ;  he  was  to  him  the  spirit  of  the 
age,  the  genius  of  the  world,  and  he 
hastened  to  meet  him,  opened  his  arms 
wide,  and  pressed  him  tenderly  to  his 
heart.  "Welcome,  welcome  my  lord 
and  master,"  said  the  king;  "I  receive 
fou,  as  becomes  a  pupil,  in  my  school- 

♦  (Euvre3  Posthamea. 
IS 


room,  surrounded  by  my  books,  whose 
mysterious  lessons  of  wisdom,  you,  my 
teacher,  will  make  clear." 

"  On  the  contrary,  sire,"  said  Voltaire, 
with  a  soft  voice  and  a  most  enchanting 
smile — "  on  the  contrary,  you  receive 
me  with  all  the  pomp  of  royalty  seated 
upon  a  throne,  which  is  not  yours  by 
inheritance,  but  which  you  have  con- 
quered ;  upon  the  throne  of  knowledge 
and  learning,  crowned  with  the  laurels 
which  the  gods  consecrate  to  heroes 
and  poets.  Alas  !  my  eyes  are  dazzled 
by  the  lustre  which  surrounds  me.  I 
bow  in  humility  before  this  lordly  head 
adorned  by  two  royal  crowns  and  reign- 
ing over  two  mighty  kingdoms.  Re- 
ceive me,  sire,  as  an  ambassador  from 
the  realm  of  poets,  whose  crown  you 
wear  with  so  much  grace  and  dignity." 
Frederick  smiled  kindly.  "Let  me 
be  only  a  burgher  and  your  comrade  in 
arms  in  the  republic  of  letters,"  said  he. 
"  I  hold  republics  generally  as  impossi- 
bilities, but  I  believe  in  a  republic  of 
letters,  and  I  have  a  right  republican 
heart,  striving  after  liberty,  equality, 
and  brotherly  love.  Eemember  this, 
friend,  and  let  us  forget  at  Sans-Souci 
that  your  comrade  is  sometimes  the  first 
servant  of  a  kingdom.  And  now,  tell 
me  how  you  have  borne  the  fatigues  of 
the  journey,  and  if  you  have  been  re- 
ceived at  every  station  with  the  marked 
attention  I  had  commanded." 

"Yes,  sire,  everywhere  in  Prussia  I 
have  felt  myself  almost  oppressed,  hum- 
bled, by  your  greatness.  How  great, 
how  mighty,  how  powerful,  must  your 
majesty  be,  when  I  am  so  distinguished, 
so  honored,  simply  because  I  enjoy  your 
favor!  This  honor  and  this  pleasure 
alone  have  given  me  strength  for  my 
journey.  My  friends  in  Paris  thought 
it  absurd  and  ridiculous  for  me,  in  my 
miserable  condition,  to  attempt  so 
fatiguing  a  journey.  But,  sire,  I  was 
not  wilUng  to  die  before  I  had  once 
more  sat  at  the  feet  of  this  great  iuuj 


£26 


BERLIN  AND  fcJAiSS^OUCI;    OR, 


yet  simple  man,  this  exalted  yet  genial 
philosopher.  I  wish  to  revive  and 
quicken  my  sick  heart  at  this  fountain 
of  wit  and  wisdom.  I  come,  therefore, 
not  as  Voltaire,  but  as  the  tragic  Scar- 
ron  of  your  century,  and  throughout 
my  whole  journey  I  have  called  myself 
the  '  Invalid  of  the  King  of  Prus- 
sia.' "  * 

Frederick  laughed  heartily.  "The 
Marshal  of  Saxony  and  yourself  are  in 
the  same  condition  with  your  maladies : 
in  the  extremity  of  illness  you  have 
more  energy  and  power  than  all  other 
men  in  the  most  robust  health.  Vol- 
taire, if  you  had  not  come  now,  I  should 
have  considered  you  a  bad  penny :  in 
place  of  the  true  metal  of  friendship  I 
should  have  suspected  you  of  palming 
oif  plated  lead  upon  me.  It  is  well  for 
you  that  you  are  here.  You  are  like 
the  white  elephant  for  whom  the  Shah 
of  Persia  and  the  Great  Mogul  are  con- 
tinually at  war.  Tlie  one  who  is  so 
fortunate  as  to  possess  the  white  ele- 
phant makes  it  always  the  occasion  of 
an  added  title.  I  will  follow  their  ex- 
ample, and  from  this  time  my  title  shall 
run  thus :  '  Frederick,  by  the  grace  of 
God,  King  of  Prussia,  Prince-Elector  of 
Brandenburg,  Possessor  of  Voltaire, 
etc.  etc' " 

"  Your  majesty  may  say,  '  of  inalien- 
able Voltaire.'  I  am  wiser  than  the 
white  elephant ;  no  war  shall  be  neces- 
sary to  conquer  or  to  hold  me.  I  de- 
clare myself  your  majesty's  most  willing 
subject  joyfully.  Let  me  then  be  your 
white  elephant,  sire,  and  if  the  Great 
Mogul  covets  and  demands  me,  I  pray 
you  to  conceal  me," 

While  Voltaire  was  speaking,  he  cast 
a  sly  glance  upon  the  countenance  of 
the  king,  his  smile  disappeared,  and  his 
face  lost  its  kindly  expression, 

Frederick  did  not,  or  would  not,  see 
it.     " Not  80,"  said  he,  gayly ;    "I  will 

•  (Eiivres  CoinpWtee  de  Voltaire.  (EuTres  Post- 
butnes. 


not  conceal  you,  but    boldly  declare 
that  you  are  mine." 

"I  am,  nevertheless,  the  subject  of 
the  King  of  France,"  said  Voltaire, 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  "When  I  re 
solved  to  leave  Paris,  they  did  not  de- 
prive me  of  my  title  of  '  Historian  ol 
the  King  of  France,'  they  only  took 
from  me  my  pension.  They  knew  I 
must  travel  by  post,  and  that  a  title 
was  less  weighty  for  the  horses  than  a 
pension  of  six  thousand  livres ;  so  they 
lightened  me  of  that,  and  I  come  un- 
pensioned  to  your  majesty." 

This  little  comedy  was  too  clear  to 
escape  the  king,  but  he  seemed  not  to 
understand  it.  A  shadow  fell  upon  his 
brow,  and  the  expression  of  his  face 
was  troubled.  He  wished  to  worship 
Voltaire  as  a  noble,  exalted  genius,  and 
he  was  pained  to  find  him  a  pitiful,  cal- 
culating, common  man. 

"  You  have,  then,  fallen  under  the 
displeasure  of  my  brother  Louis,  of 
France  ? ''  said  he. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  am  assured  that 
I  stand  in  the  highest  favor.  I  am,  in- 
deed, honored  with  a  most  agreeable 
and  flattering  commission;  and  if  your 
majesty  allows,  I  will  immediately  dis- 
charge it." 

"  Do  so,"  said  Frederick,  smiling. 
"Lay  aside  every  weight,  that  your 
wings  may  waft  you  into  the  heaven 
of  heavens  while  at  Sans-Souci.  You 
have  been  relieved  of  your  pension, 
cast  all  your  ballast  into  the  scale 
also." 

"  Sire,  the  Marquise  de  Pompadour 
directed  me  to  present  your  majesty 
with  her  most  obedient  and  submissive 
greetings,  and  to  assure  you  of  her  rev- 
erence and  heart-felt  devotion." 

Frederick  quietly  drew  his  tabatiere 
from  his  vest-pocket,  and  slowly  taking 
a  pinch  of  snuff,  he  fixed  his  burning 
eyes  upon  Voltaire's  smiling  and  expect- 
ant face ;  then  said,  with  the  most  com- 
plete indifference,  "The   Marquise  ric 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDJ 


22V 


Pompadour.  Who  is  she  ?  I  do  not 
know  her !  " 

Voltaire  looked  at  the  king  aston- 
ished and  questioning. 

Frederick  did  not  remark  this,  but 
went  on  quietly  :  "  Have  you  no  other 
greetings  for  me  ?  Have  none  of  the 
great  spirits,  in  which  Paris  is  so  rich, 
remembered  me  ? " 

"  I  shall  be  careful  not  to  mention 
any  other  greetings.  AJl  the  so-called 
great  spirits  appear  so  small  in  the  pres- 
ence of  your  exalted  majesty,  I  fear  you 
will  not  acknowledge  them." 

"  Not  so,"  said  Frederick ;  "  I  gladly 
recognize  all  that  is  really  great  and 
worthy  of  renown.  Voltaire  will  never 
find  a  more  enthusiastic  admirer  than  I 
am." 

"  Ah,  sire,  these  words  are  a  balsam 
which  I  will  lay  upon  my  breast,  lacer- 
ated by  the  wild  outcries  of  my  crit- 
ics." 

"  So  the  critics  have  been  giving  you 
trouble  ?  "  said  Frederick. 

"  Yes,  sire,"  said  Voltaire,  with  the 
passionate  scorn  so  peculiar  to  him  ; 
"  they  have  bored  their  insatiable  and 
poisonous  teeth  into  my  flesh.  They 
are  so  miserable  and  so  pitiful,  that  I 
seem  to  myself  miserable  and  pitiful  as 
their  victim,  and  in  all  humility  I  will 
ask  your  majesty,  if  such  hounds  are 
allowed  to  howl  unpunished,  would  it 
not  be  better  for  Voltaire  to  creep  into 
some  den,  and  acknowledge  the  wild 
beasts  of  the  forest  as  his  brothers — per- 
haiis  they  might  regard  his  verses  as 
melodious  barkings  and  bowlings  ?  " 

"  Still  the  same  boisterous  hot-head, 
the  Orlando  Furioso,"  cried  the  king, 
laughing  heartily.  "Is  your  skin  so 
tender  still  that  the  needles  of  the  little 
critics  disturb  you,  and  to  gratify  their 
malice  will  you  become  a  mule?  If 
you  are  driven  to  abandon  the  Muses, 
friend,  who  will  have  the  hardihood 
to  stand  by  them  ?  No,  no  !  do  not 
follow  in  the  footsteps  of  the  God  of 


Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Jacob;  do  not 
'  visit  the  sins  of  the  fathers  upon  the 
children  unto  the  thii-d  and  fourth  gen- 
eration ; '  do  not  make  the  public  of 
our  day,  and  of  the  next  century,  suffer 
for  the  crimes  of  a  few  pitiful  critics, 
the  persecutions  and  slanders  of  the 
envious  are  the  tribute  great  merit 
must  always  pay  to  the  world  at  lar^^e. 
Let  them  rail  on,  but  do  not  believe 
that  the  nations  and  the  future  will  be 
duped  by  them.  Utterly  disregarding 
the  criticisms  of  the  so-called  masters  of 
art,  we  of  this  century  admire  and  won- 
der at  the  chefs-d'osvvre  of  Greece  and 
Rome.  The  mad  cry  of  JEschines  does 
not  obscure  the  fame  of  Demosthenes ; 
and,  in  spite  of  Lucian,  Caesar  is,  and 
will  ever  remain,  the  greatest  man  the 
world  has  ever  produced.  I  guarantee 
that  after  your  death  you  will  be  canon- 
ized, worshipped.  I  humbly  entreat  you 
not  to  hasten  the  time,  but  be  content  to 
have  the  apotheosis  in  your  pocket,  and 
to  be  honored  by  all  those  who  are 
too  exalted  to  be  envious  or  prejudiced. 
I,  Frederick,  stand  foremost  m  the 
ranks."  * 

"  Why  cannot  the  whole  world  be 
present  to  hear  the  words  of  a  king 
whom  I  am  proud,  from  this  day  on- 
ward, to  call  mi/  king  'i "  cried  Voltaire, 
passionately.  "  Sire,  I  love  you,  ar- 
dently! I  believe  tlie  gods  made  us 
for  each  other.  I  have  long  loved  you 
tenderly !  I  have  been  angry  with  you, 
but  I  have  forgiven  you  all,  and  I  love 
you  to  madness !  There  was  never  a 
weaker,  frailer  body  than  mine,  but  my 
soul  is  strong!  I  dare  to  say  I  love 
you  as  much  as  I  admire  you  !  t  Verily, 
I  hold  this  to  be  as  great  a  conquest  as 
the  five  other  victories  your  majesty  has 
achieved,  and  for  which  the  world  wor- 
ships you.  From  this  day  I  will  belike 
your  faithful  hound  ;  I  will  lie  at  your 
feet,  even  though  you  should  spurn  me; 

♦  The  king's  own  words. — CEuvres  PosthumM. 
t  Toltaire's  own  words. 


226 


BERLIN   AND    SANS-SOUCI  ;    OR, 


and  declare  that  you  -will  not  be  my 
master  and  lord.  I  will  still  return. 
Your  threshold  shall  be  my  home,  and 
I  will  be  content  with  the  crumbs 
which  fall  from  your  table.  My  for- 
tune and  my  happiness  shall  consist  in 
loving  you ! " 

"  I  will  not  put  your  love  to  so  hard 
a  proof,"  said  the  king,  smiling.  '•  I 
dare  hope  to  provide  you  with  a  more 
durable  dwelling.  I  promise  you  shall 
not  be  like  Lazarus,  feeding  upon 
crumbs.  You  shall  be  the  rich  man, 
dispensing  them.'" 

Here  was  a  sort  of  promise  and  as- 
surance which  banished  in  some  degree 
the  nervous  anxiety  and  distrust  of 
Voltaire,  and  his  countenance  once 
more  beamed  with  joy.  He  suppressed 
his  satisfaction,  however,  instantly.  He 
did  not  wish  to  betray  to  the  observant 
eye  of  Frederick  his  selfish  and  miserly 
nature,  and  assumed  at  once  a  melan- 
choly look. 

"  Sire,"  said  he,  "  I  do  not  resemble 
Lazarus;  and  if  your  majesty  does  not 
possess  the  miraculous  power  of  the 
young  rabbi,  Jesus  Christus,  I  fear  you 
will  soon  have  to  bury  me.  But  I  am 
as  true  a  believer  as  any  Jew.  I  trust 
fully  to  the  magic  power  of  your  hand. 
Was  not  your  marvellous  touch  suffi- 
cient to  place  beautiful  Silesia,  a  gem  of 
Che  first  water,  in  the  crown  of  Prus- 
sia ? — to  awaken  spirits,  sleeping  almost 
the  sleep  of  death,  and  to  call  into  life 
on  these  barbarous  northern  steppes 
the  blossoms  of  education  and  refine- 
ment ?  I  believe  in  the  miracles  of  the 
Solomon  of  the  North,  and  I  am  will- 
ing to  give  my  testimony  to  the  whole 
world." 

"  Nevertheless,  if  the  French  cock 
crows,  you  will  betray  me  three  times," 
said  the  king.  ''  I  know  you,  Voltaire, 
and  I  know  when  you  are  enraged 
nothing  is  sacred.  I  fear  that  here,  as 
elsewhere,  you  will  find  provocations. 
But  now.  before  all  other  things,  what 


have  you  brought  me  ?  "What  gift  has 
your  muse  produced  for  the  poor  phi- 
losopher of  Sans-Souci  ?  I  will  not  be- 
lieve that  you  come  with  empty  hands, 
and  that  the  Homer  of  France  has  bro- 
ken his  lyre." 

"  No,  sire,  I  am  not  empty-handed ! 
I  have  brought  you  a  present.  I  be- 
lieve it  to  be  the  best  and  most  beauti- 
ful production  of  my  muse.  For  twen- 
ty years  I  have  swelled  with  indignation 
at  the  tragedy  which  my  good  friend, 
Master  Crfibillon,  made  of  the  most  ex- 
alted subject  of  antiquity.  With  the 
adroit  hands  of  a  tailor  he  stitched  up 
a  monkey-jacket  out  of  the  purple 
toga,  and  adorned  it  with  the  miserable 
tawdry  trifles  of  a  pitiful  lore  and 
pomi^ous  Gothic  verse  1  Crgbillon  has 
written  a  French  Catiline.  I,  sire,  have 
written  a  Roman  Catiline  !  You  shall 
see,  sire,  and  you  shall  admire !  In 
one  of  my  most  wretched,  sleepless 
nights,  the  devil  overcame  me,  and 
said:  'Revenge  Cicero  and  France! 
CrSbillon  has  disgraced  both.  Wash 
out  this  stain  from  France.'  This  was 
a  good  devil ;  and  even  you,  sire,  could 
not  have  driven  me  to  work  more 
eagerly  than  he  did.  Day  and  night 
he  chained  me  to  my  writing-desk  !  I 
feared  I  should  die  of  excitement,  but 
the  devil  held  on  to  me,  and  the  spirits 
of  the  great  Romans  stood  by  my  ta- 
ble and  tore  off  the  absurd  and  ridicu- 
lous masks  which  Cr^billon  had  laid 
upon  them.  They  showed  me  their 
true,  exalted,  glowing  faces,  and  com- 
manded me  to  portray  them,  '  that  the 
world  at  last  might  feel  their  majestic 
beauty,  and  be  no  longer  deceived  by 
the  caricatures  of  Crfibillon  ! '  I  was 
obliged  to  obey,  sire !  I  worked  «n- 
ceasingly,  and  in  eight  days  I  had  fin- 
ished !  Catiline  was  born,  and  I  was 
as  much  exhausted  as  ever  a  w^oman 
w^as  at  the  birth  of  her  first-bom  1 "  * 

♦  This  whole  speech  is  froi  i  V  )Italra 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


229 


'  You  do  not  mean  that  in  eight 
days  you  completed  the  tragedy  ?  "  said 
the  king.  "  You  mean  only  that  you 
have  arranged  the  plot,  and  will  finish 
the  work  here." 

"  No,  sire,  I  bring  you  the  tragedy 
complete,  and  I  wrote  it  in  eight  days. 
Ah,  sire,  this  is  a  tragedy  you  will  en- 
joy !  You  will  see  no  lovelorn  Tullia, 
no  infirm  and  toothless  Cicero;  you 
will  see  a  fearful  picture  of  Rome,  a 
picture  at  which  I  myself  shuddered. 
But,  sire,  when  you  read  it,  you  must 
swear  to  me  to  read  it  in  the  same 
spirit  in  which  it  is  written.  I  have 
left  to  my  collegian  Crgbillon  all  his 
dramatic  plunder;  his  Catiline  is  a 
pure  fiction.  I  have  written  mine,  re- 
membering my  province  as  an  histo- 
rian. Rome  is  my  heroine  ;  she  is  the 
mistress  for  whom  I  would  interest  all 
Europe.  I  have  no  other  intrigue 
than  Rome's  danger ;  no  other  materi- 
al than  the  mad  craft  of  Catiline, 
the  vehemence  and  heroic  virtue  of 
Cicero,  the  jealousy  of  the  Roman 
Senate,  the  development  of  the  charac- 
ter of  Ca;sar;  no  other  woman  than 
that  unfortunate  who  was  seduced  by 
Catiline  because  of  her  gentleness  and 
amiability.  I  know  not,  sire,  if  you 
will  shudder  at  the  fourth  act,  but  I, 
the  writer,  trembled  and  shuddered. 
My  tragedy  is  not  formed  upon  any 
model,  it  is  new  in  nova  fert  animus. 
Truly  I  know  the  world  will  rail  at  me 
for  this,  and  the  small  souls  gnash  their 
teeth  and  howl,  but  my  work  is  writ- 
ten with  a  great  soul,  and  kindred 
spirits  will  comprehend  me.  The  envi- 
ous and  the  pitiful  I  will  at  last  tram- 
ple under  my  feet.  Jupiter  strove  with 
the  Titans  and  overcame  them.  I  am 
no  Jupiter,  neither  are  my  adversaries 
Titans." 

While  these  words,  in  an  irrepressible 
and  powerful  stream  of  eloquence,  burst 
from  his  lips,  Voltaire  became  another 
man.    His  countenance  was  imposing 


in  its  beauty,  his  eyes  glowed  with  the 
fire  of  inspu-ation,  an  enchanting  smile 
played  upon  his  lips,  and  his  bowed  and 
contracted  form  was  proudly  erect  and 
commanding.  The  king  gazed  upon 
him  with  admiration.  At  length  V<il- 
taire,  panting  for  breath,  was  silent. 
Frederick  laid  his  two  hands  upon  hia 
shoulders,  and  looked  into  the  glowing 
face  with  an  indescribable  expression 
of  love  and  tenderness, 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  I  have  again  and 
at  last  found  my  Voltaire,  my  proud, 
inspired  king  of  poets,  my  Homer, 
crowned  with  immortality  !  The  might 
of  genius  has  torn  away  the  mantle  of 
the  courtier,  and  in  place  of  pitiful, 
pliant,  humble  words,  I  hear  again  the 
melodious,  flashing,  eloquent  speech  of 
my  royal  poet !  Welcome,  Voltaire, 
welcome  to  Sans-Souci,  whose  poor 
philosopher  is  but  king  of  men,  while 
the  spirits  are  subject  unto  you  !  Ah, 
my  all-powerful  king  and  master,  be 
gracious !  You  possess  a  wondrous 
realm,  give  me  at  least  a  small  province 
in  your  kingdom." 

"  Sire,  you  mock  at  mc,"  cried  Vol- 
taire. "  I  have  written  Cgesar  and  Cicero 
for  the  theatre.  You,  however,  exhibit 
on  the  stage  of  the  world  the  two  great- 
est men  of  the  greatest  century,  com- 
bined in  your  own  person.  I  have  come 
to  gaze  upon  this  wonder ;  it  is  a  far 
loftier  drama  than  mine,  and  will  be 
surely  more  nobly  represented.*  Your 
majesty  represents  what  you  truly  are, 
but  where  shall  I  find  actors  to  fill  the 
role  of  Caesar,  Cicero,  and  Catiline ;  how 
shall  I  change  the  pitiful  souls  of  the 
coulisse  into  great  men ;  make  noble 
Romans  out  of  these  small  pasteboard 
heroes  of  the  mode  ?  I  could  find  no 
actors  for  my  tragedy  in  Paris,  and  it 
shall  never  be  unworthily  represented  ! " 

"We  will  bring  it  upon  the  stage 
here,"   said  Frederick.      "Yes,   truly. 


*  Voltaire's  own  words. 


£30 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI-    OR, 


this  new  and  great  work  shall  announce, 
like  a  flaming  comet,  Voltaire's  arrival 
in  Berlin.  At  the  same  moment  in  which 
the  Berlinese  see  that  you  are  at  last 
amongst  them,  shall  they  acknowledge 
that  you  are  worthy  to  be  honored  and 
worshipped.  In  four  weeks,  Voltaire, 
shall  your  new  tragedy  be  given  in  my 
palace." 

"Has  your  majesty,  then,  a  French 
company,  and  such  a  one  as  may  dare 
to  represent  my  Catiline  ? " 

"  For  the  love  of  Voltaire  will  all  my 
courtiers,  and  even  my  sister,  become 
actors ;  and  though  a  Cicero  failed  you 
in  Paris,  in  Berlin  we  will  surely  find 
you  one.  Have  we  not  Voltaire  who 
can  take  that  role  ?  If  no  reliable  di- 
rector could  be  found  in  Paris,  I  give 
you  permission  to  select  from  my  court 
circle  those  you  consider  most  talented 
and  most  capable  as  actors,  and  you  can 
study  their  jiarts  with  them — I  myself 
alone  excepted.  Ten  years  ago  I  wished 
to  have  your  '  Death  of  Orosar '  given  at 
Rheinsberg,  and  I  had  selected  a  role  ; 
just  then  the  Emperor  of  Germany  died, 
and  fate  called  me  out  upon  the  great 
theatre  of  the  world,  where  I  have  since 
then  tried  to  play  my  part  worthily, 
and  I  must  consecrate  to  this  all  my 
strength  and  ability.  I  can  play  no 
other  part !  The  two  roles  might  make 
a  rare  confusion,  and  strange  results 
might  follow  should  the  King  of  Prussia 
of  this  morning  be  changed  to  the  Cice- 
ro of  the  evening,  utter  a  fulminating 
speech  against  tyrants,  and  call  upon 
the  nol)le  Romans  to  defend  their  rights ; 
while  this  same  King  of  Prussia  is  a 
small  tyrant,  and  his  subjects  are  more 
like  pitiful  slaves  than  heroic  Romans. 
I  must,  therefore,  confine  myself  to  the 
narrow  boundaries  of  a  spectator,  and 
applaud  you  as  heartily  in  your  charac- 
ter of  Cicero  as  I  apjjlaud  you  in  that 
of  the  great  Voltaire.'' 

"  And  is  this  indeed  your  intention, 
giro  ?    My  poor  tragedy  lies  in  my  writ- 


ing-desk, seemingly  dead;  will  you 
awaken  it  to  life  and  light  ?  " 

"It  shall  be  given  in  two  months, 
and  you  shall  conduct  it." 

Voltaire's  countenance  darkened ;  his 
gay  smile  disappeared,  and  lines  of  self- 
ishness and  covetousness  clouded  the 
brow  of  the  great  poet. 

"  In  two  months,  sire  ! "  said  he,  shak- 
ing his  head.  "  I  fear  I  shall  not  be 
here.  I  have  only  come  to  sun  myself 
for  a  few  happy  days  in  your  presence." 

"  And  then  ? "  said  Frederick,  inter- 
rupting him. 

"  Then  I  must  fulfil  one  of  the  darling 
dreams  of  my  whole  life.  I  must  go  to 
Italy,  to  the  holy  city  of  Rome,  and 
kneel  upon  the  graves  of  Cicero  and 
Cajsar.  I  must  see  St.  Peter's,  the  Venus 
de  Medici,  and  the  pope." 

"  You  will  never  go  to  Rome,"  said 
Frederick.  "  The  Holy  Father  will  not 
have  the  happiness  of  converting  the 
blasphemous  Saul  into  the  pious  and 
believing  Paul.  You  will  remain  in 
Berlin ;  if  you  do  not  yield  willingly,  I 
must  compel  you  to  yield.  I  will  make 
you  my  subject ;  I  will  bind  you  with 
orders  and  titles ;  I  will  compel  you  to 
accept  a  salary  from  me;  and  then, 
should  they  seek  to  ravish  you  from  me, 
I  will  have  a  right  to  withhold  you  from 
all  the  potentates  of  the  world." 

Voltaire's  face  was  again  radiant. 
"  Ah  !  su'e,  no  power  or  chains  will  be 
necessary  to  bind  me  here;  your  ma- 
jesty's command  alone  would  suffice." 

"  And  your  duty  !  My  gentleman  of 
the  bedchamber  dare  not  withdraw 
himself  for  a  single  day  without  my 
permission.  I  make  you  gentleman  of 
the  bedchamber.  I  lay  the  ribbon  of 
my  order,  '^ pour  le  merite,''  around  your 
neck;  and  that  I  may  always  have  a 
rope  around  you,  and  make  you  com- 
pletely my  prisoner,  I  give  you  an  apart- 
ment in  my  palace  at  Potsdam;  and 
that  you  may  not  feel  yourself  a  hermit, 
you  will  have  every  day  six  covers  laid 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


231 


toi  your  friends ;  and  to  mock  you  with 
the  appearance  of  liberty,  you  shall  have 
your  own  equipage  and  servants,  who 
will  obey  you  in  all  things  with  one  ex- 
ception— if  you  order  your  valet  to  pack 
up  your  efl'ects,  and  your  coachman  to 
take  the  road  to  Paris,  they  will  disobey." 

Voltaire  heard  the  words  of  the  king 
with  breathless  attention.  Sullen  sus- 
picion and  discontent  were  written  on 
his  face.  Tliis  did  not  escape  the  king ; 
he  understood  the  cause,  but  he  said 
nothing,  Voltaire  exhausted  himself 
in  words  of  joy  and  gratitude,  but  they 
had  not  the  ring  of  truth,  and  the  joy 
which  his  hps  expressed  found  no  echo 
jx  his  face. 

"  I  have  but  one  other  thing  to  add," 
Baid  Frederick,  at  last.  "Can  your 
greatness  pardon  a  poor  earthworm,  if 
he  dare  speak  in  your  presence  of  so 
common  and  villanous  a  thing  as 
money  ? " 

Voltaii-e's  eyes  sparkled ;  the  subject 
of  conversation  did  not  seem  disagree- 
able to  him. 

"  You  have  relinquished  a  pension  of 
six  thousand  livres  in  France.  It  is  but 
just  that  you  receive  full  compensation. 
Your  great  spirit  is  certainly  above  all 
earthly  considerations,  but  our  fleshly 
existence  has  its  rights.  So  long  as  you 
are  with  me,  you  shall  not  be  troubled 
by  even  a  shadow  of  privation.  You 
will  therefore  receive  a  salary  of  five 
thousand  thalers  from  me.  Your  lodg- 
ing and  your  table  cost  you  nothing, 
and  I  think  you  can  be  very  comfort- 
able." 

Voltaire's  heart  bounded  for  joy,  but 
he  forced  himself  to  seem  calm  and  in- 
dilierent. 

"  Yoiir  majesty  has  forgotten  an  im- 
portant matter,"  said  he.  "  You  have 
named  lodging  and  food,  but  you  say 
nothing  of  light  and  fire.  I  am  an  old 
man,  and  cannot  produce  them  myself" 

"  Truly  said — I  find  it  quite  in  order 
that  the  great  freethinker  and  poet  of 


his  century  is  troubled  for  the  light 
which  should  illuminate  him.  You  shall 
have  twelve  pounds  of  wax-lights  every 
month ;  I  think  this  will  be  sufficient 
for  your  purposes.  As  for  the  other 
little  necessities  of  life,  have  the  good- 
ness to  apply  to  the  castellan  of  the 
castle.  On  the  first  day  of  every  month 
he  wiU  supply  them  regularly.  The 
contract  is  made ;  you  will  remain  with 
me?" 

"  I  remain,  sire  ! — not  for  the  title,  or 
the  pension,  or  the  order — I  remain  with 
you,  because  I  love  you.  My  heart 
offers  up  to  you  the  dream  of  my  life, 
my  journey  to  Italy.  Oh,  I  wish  I 
could  make  greater,  more  dangerous 
sacrifices !  I  wish  I  could  find  a  means 
to  prove  my  love,  my  adoration,  my 
worship ! " 

The  king  laid  his  hand  softly  on  Vol- 
taire's shoulder,  and  looked  earnestly 
in  his  eyes. 

"  Be  as  good  a  man  as  you  are  a  great 
poet.  That  is  the  most  beautiful  offer- 
ing you  can  bring  me." 

"  Ah  !  I  see,"  said  Voltaire,  enraged ; 
"some  one  has  slandered  me.  Your 
majesty  has  opened  your  ears  to  my 
enemies,  and  already  their  hullish  poison 
has  reached  your  heart.  As  they  can- 
not destroy  Voltaire  the  poet,  they  seize 
upon  Voltaire  the  man,  and  slander  his 
character  because  they  cannot  obscure 
his  fame.  I  wUl  advance  to  meet  them 
with  an  open  visor  and  without  a  shield. 
From  their  place  of  ambush,  with  their 
poisoned  arrows,  let  them  slay  me.  It 
is  better  to  die  than  to  be  suspected  and 
contemned  by  my  great  and  worshipped 
kmg." 

*'  See,  now,  what  curious  creatures 
you  poets  are  !  "  said  Frederick ;  "  al- 
ways in  wild  tumult  and  agitation; 
either  storming  heaven  or  hell ;  contend- 
ing with  demons,  or  revelling  with 
angels !  You  have  no  daily  quiet,  pa- 
tience, and  perseverance.  If  you  see  a 
man  who  tells  you  he  is  planting  pota 


282 


BERLIN  AND  SA\S-SOUCI;    OR, 


toes,  you  do  not  believe  him — you  con- 
vince yourself  he  is  sowing  dragons' 
teeth  to  raise  an  army  to  contend  against 
you.  If  you  meet  one  of  your  fellows 
with  a  jjarticularly  quiet  aspect,  you 
are  sure  you  can  read  curses  against  you 
upon  his  lip.  When  one  begs  you  to 
be  good,  you  look  upon  it  as  an  accu- 
sation. No,  no,  my  poet !  no  one  has 
poured  the  poison  of  slander  into  my 
ears — no  one  has  accused  you  to  me.  I 
am,  moreover,  accustomed  to  form  my 
own  conclusions,  and  the  opinions  of 
others  have  but  little  weight  with  me." 

"  But  your  majesty  is  pleased  to  lend 
your  ears  to  my  enemies,"  said  Voltaii'e, 
sullenly ;  "  exactly  those  who  attack  me 
most  virulently  receive  the  highest 
honors  at  the  hands  of  your  majesty. 
You  are  as  cruel  with  me  as  a  beautiful 
and  ravishing  coquette.  So  soon  as  by 
a  love-glance  you  have  made  me  the 
happiest  of  men,  you  turn  away  with 
cold  contempt,  and  smile  alluringly 
upon  my  rivals.  I  have  yet  two  dagger- 
e^rokes  in  my  heart,  which  cause  me 
death-agony.  If  your  majesty  would 
make  me  truly  happy,  you  must  cure 
the  wounds  with  your  own  hands." 

"I  will,  if  it  is  possible,"  said  the 
king,  gravely.  "Let  us  hear  of  what 
you  complain." 

"  Sire,  your  majesty  has  made  Frfiron 
your  correspondent  in  Paris — Fr6ron, 
my  most  bitter  enemy,  my  irreconcilable 
adversary.  But  it  is  not  because  he  is 
my  foe  that  I  entreat  you  to  dismiss 
him  ;  you  will  not  think  so  pitifully  of 
lue  as  to  suppose  that  this  is  the  reason 
I  entreat  you  to  dismiss  him  from  your 
service.  My  personal  dislike  will  not 
make  me  blind  to  the  worth  of  Fr^ron 
as  a  writer.  No,  sire,  Frgron  is  not 
worthy  of  your  favor ;  he  is  an  openly 
dishonored  scoundrel,  who  has  com- 
mitted more  than  one  common  fraud. 
You  may  imagine  what  an  excitement 
it  produced  in  Paris  when  it  was  known 
that  you  had  honored  this  scamp  with 


a  position  which  should  be  filled  by  a 
man  of  wisdom  and  integrity.  FrSron 
is  only  my  enemy  because,  in  spite  of 
all  entreaties,  I  have  closed  my  house 
upon  him.  I  took  this  step  for  reasons 
which  should  have  closed  the  doors  of 
every  respectable  house  against  him.* 
Sire,  I  implore  you,  do  not  let  the  world 
believe  for  a  single  day  longer  that 
Fr6ron  is  your  correspondent.  Dismiss 
him  at  once  from  your  service." 

The  king  did  not  reply  for  a  few 
moments ;  he  walked  backward  and 
forward  several  times,  then  stood  qui- 
etly before  Voltaire.  The  expression  of 
his  eye  was  stern. 

"  I  sacrifice  Fr6ron  to  you,"  said  he, 
"  because  I  will  deny  you  nothing  on 
this,  the  day  of  your  arrival ;  but  I  re- 
peat to  you  what  I  said  before,  '  be  not 
only  a  great  poet,  be  also  a  good  man.'  " 

Voltaire  shook  his  head,  sadly. 
"  Sire,"  said  he,  "  in  your  eyes  I  am  not 
a  great  poet,  only  un  aoleil  couchant. 
Remember  Arnaud,  my  pupil,  whom  I 
sent  to  you  ! " 

"  Aha  !  "  cried  the  king,  laughing, 
"  you  have,  then,  read  my  little  poem  to 
Arnaud  ? " 

"  Sire,  I  have  read  it,  and  that  was 
the  second  dagger-stroke  which  I  re- 
ceived on  this  journey,  to  which  my 
loving  heart  forced  my  weak  and 
shrinking  body ;  I  felt  that  I  must  see 
you  once  more  before  I  died.  Yes,  I 
have  read  this  terrible  poem,  and  the 
lines  have  burned  into  my  heart  these 
cruel  words : 

'Deji  sans  etre  tomeraire, 
Prenant  votre  vol  jusqu'aux  cieux, 
Vous  pouvez  6galer  Voltaire, 
Et  pr6s  de  Virgile  et  d'Homdre. 
Jouir  de  vos  succfes  hciireux, 
Deja  rApollon  de  la  France, 
S'achcmine  A  sa  decadence, 
Venez  briller  h  votre  tour, 
Elevez  voub  s'il  brille  encore ; 
Ainsi  le  coucbant  d'un  beau  jour, 
Promet  une  plus  belle  aurore.  ^  "  t 

*  Voltaire's  own  words. 

+  Suppl6ment  des  Oiuvres  Posthumes. 


FREDERICK  TEE   GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIE^DS. 


233 


"Yes,"  said  the  king,  as  Yoltaire 
ceased  declaiming,  and  stood  in  rather 
a  tragic  attitude  before  him — "  yes,  I 
confess  that  a  sensitive  nature  like 
yours  might  find  a  thorn  in  these  inno- 
cent rhymes.  My  only  intention  was  to 
give  to  the  little  Amaud  a  few  roses 
which  he  might  weave  into  a  wreath  of 
fame.  It  seems  I  fulfilled  my  purpose 
poorly ;  it  was  high  time  that  Voltaire 
should  come  to  teach  me  to  make  bet- 
ter verses.  See,  I  confess  my  injustice, 
and  I  allow  you  to  punish  me  by  writ- 
ing a  poem  against  me,  which  shall  be 
published  as  extensively  as  my  little 
verse  to  Aj-naud." 

"  Does  your  majesty  promise  me  this 
little  revenge  in  earnest  ? " 

"  I  promise  it ;  give  me  your  poem 
as  soon  as  it  is  ready ;  it  shall  be  pub- 
lished in  '  Formey's  Journal.' " 

"  Sire,  it  is  ready :  hear  it  now.* 

'Quel  diable  de  Marc  Antoinet 
Et  quelle  malice  est  le  votre, 
Vous  ^gratinei  d'nne  maiu 
Lorsque  vous  carcssex  del'autre. ' " 

"  Ah,"  said  Frederick,  "  what  a  beau- 
tiful quatmin  Monsieur  Arouet  has 
made !  " 

''  Arouet  ! "  said  Voltaire,  astonished, 

"  Well,  now,  you  would  not  surely 
wish  me  to  believe  that  this  little  sting- 
ing, pitiful  rhyme,  was  written  by  the 
great  Voltaire.  No,  no  1  this  is  the 
work  of  the  young  Arouet,  and  we  will 
have  it  published  with  his  signature." 

Voltaire  fixed  his  great  eyes  for  a 
moment  angrily  upon  the  handsome 
face  of  the  king,  then  bowed  his  head 
and  looked  down  thoughtfully.  There 
was  a  pause,  and  his  face  assumed  a 
noble  expression — ^he  was  again  the 
great  poet. 

''  Sire,"  said  he,  softly,  ''  I  will  not 
have  this  poem  published.  You  are 
right,  Voltaire  does  not  acknowledge 
it.     This  poor  verse  was  written  by 

*  (Euvres  Completes  de  Voltaire. 


Arouet,  or  the  *  old  Adam,'  who  often 
strike  the  poet  Voltaire  slyly  in  the 
back.  But  you,  sire,  who  have  already 
won  five  battles,  and  who  find  a  few 
morning  hours  sufficient  to  govern  a 
great  kingdom  with  wisdom,  consider- 
ation, and  love;  you,  by  one  kindly 
glance  of  your  eye,  will  be  able  to  ban- 
ish the  old  Adam,  and  call  heavenly 
hymns  of  love  and  praise  from  the  lipa 
of  Voltaire." 

"  I  shall  be  content  with  hymns  of 
love.  I  will  spare  you  all  eulogy,"  cried 
Frederick,  giving  bis  hand  warmly  to 
Voltaire. 

At  the  close  of  the  first  day  at  Sans- 
Souci,  the  new  gentleman  of  the  bed- 
chamber returned  to  Potsdam,  adorned 
with  the  order  "  Pour  le  Merite^''  and  a 
written  assurance  from  the  king  of  a 
pension  of  five  thousand  thalers  in  hia 
pocket. 

Two  richly-liveried  servants  received 
him  at  the  gate  of  the  palace  ;  one  of 
them  held  a  silver  candelabrum,  in 
which  five  wax-lights  were  burning. 
Voltaire  leaned,  exhausted  and  groan- 
ing, upon  the  arm  of  the  other,  who  al- 
most carried  him  into  his  apartment. 
Voltaire  ordered  the  servant  to  place 
the  lights  on  the  table,  and  to  wait  in 
the  anteroom  for  further  orders. 

Scarcely  had  the  servant  left  the 
room  when  Voltaire,  who  had  thrown 
himself,  as  if  perfectly  exhausted,  in 
the  arm-chair,  sprang  up  actively  and 
hastened  to  the  table  upon  which  the 
candelabrum  stood ;  raising  himself  on 
tiptoe,  he  blew  out  three  of  the  lights. 

"  Two  are  enough,"  said  he,  with  a 
grimace.  "I  am  to  receive  twelve 
pounds  of  wax-lights  a  month.  I  will 
be  very  economical,  and  out  of  the  pro- 
ceeds of  this  self-denial  I  can  realize  a 
little  pin-money  for  my  niece,  Denis." 
He  took  the  candelabrum  and  entered 
his  study. 

It  was  curious  to  look  upon  this  lone- 
ly, wrinkled,  decrepit  old  man,  in  the 


234 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


richly-furnished  but  half-obscure  room  ; 
the  dull  light  illuminated  his  malicious 
but  smiling  face ;  here  and  there  as  he 
advanced  it  flashed  upon  the  gilding, 
or  was  reflected  m  a  mirror,  while  be- 
hind him  the  gloom  of  night  seemed  to 
have  thrown  an  impenetrable  veil. 

Voltaire  seated  himself  at  his  desk 
and  wrote  to  his  niece,  Madame  Denis  : 
"  I  have  bound  myself  with  all  legal 
form  to  the  King  of  Prussia.  My 
marriage  with  him  is  determined  upon. 
"Will  it  be  happy  ?  I  do  not  know.  I 
could  no  longer  postpone  the  decisive 
yes.  After  coquetting  for  so  many 
years,  a  wedding  was  the  necessary 
consequence.  How  my  heai't  beat  at 
the  altar!  How  could  I  have  sup- 
posed, seven  months  ago,  when  we  ar- 
ranged our  little  house  in  Paris,  that  I 
should  be  to-day  three  hundred  leagues 
from  home  in  another  man's  house,  and 
this  other  a  ruler!"  * 

At  the  same  moment  wrote  Frederick, 
King  of  Prussia,  to  Algarotti :  "  Vol- 
taire is  here;  he  has  of  late,  as  you 
know,  been  guilty  of  an  act  unworthy 
of  him.  He  deserves  to  be  branded 
upon  Parnassus.  It  is  a  shame  that  so 
base  a  soul  should  be  united  to  so  ex- 
alted a  genius.  Of  all  this,  however, 
I  shall  take  no  notice ;  he  is  necessary 
to  me  in  my  study  of  the  French  lan- 
guage. One  can  learn  beautiful  things 
from  an  evil-doer.  I  must  learn  his 
French.  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  his 
morals.  He  unites  in  himself  the 
strangest  opposites.  The  world  wor- 
ships his  genius  and  despises  his  char- 
acter." + 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    CONFIDENCE-TABLE. 

"  And  now,  friends,  let  us  be  joyful, 
and  forget  all  the  cares  and  sorrows 

*  (Euvres  Completes,  801. 

t  (Euvres  de  FrM^ric  le  Grand. 


of  the  world,"  cried  the  king,  with  a 
ringing  laugh;  "raise  your  glasses  and 
strike  them  merrily.  Long  life  to  mirth, 
to  jest,  to  joy  ! " 

The  glasses  were  raised,  and  as  they 
met  they  rang  out  cheerily ;  they  were 
pressed  to  the  lips  and  emptied  at  a 
draught ;  the  guests  then  seated  them- 
selves silently  at  the  table.  Frederick 
glanced  at  the  circle  of  his  friends  who 
sat  with  him  at  the  round-table;  his 
eyes  dwelt  searchingly  upon  every 
laughing  face,  then  turned  to  the  gar- 
den of  Sans-Souci,  which  sent  its  per- 
fumed breath,  its  song  of  birds,  its 
evening  breeze,  through  the  open  doors 
and  windows,  while  the  moon,  rising  in 
cloudless  majesty,  shone  down  upon 
them  and  rivalled  with  her  silver  rays 
the  myriads  of  wax-lights  which  glit- 
tered in  the  crystal  chandeliers. 

"  This  is  a  glorious  evening,"  said 
the  king,  "  and  we  will  enjoy  it  glori- 
ously." 

He  ordered  the  servants  to  close  the 
doors,  place  the  dessert  and  cham- 
pagne upon  the  table,  and  leave  the 
room.  Noiselessly  and  silently  this 
command  was  fulfilled.  Frederick 
then  greeted  each  one  of  his  guests 
with  a  kindly  nod. 

"Welcome,  thrice  welcome  are  you 
all ! "  said  he.  "  I  have  longed  to  have 
you  all  together,  and  now,  at  last,  you 
are  here.  There  sits  Voltaire,  whose 
divine  Emilie  was  delivered  first  of  a 
book,  then  of  a  child,  and  then  released 
from  life  before  he  was  free  to  come  to 
Berlin.  There  is  Algarotti,  the  swan 
of  Italy,  who  spreads  his  wings  and 
would  gladly  fly  to  the  land  of  oranges 
and  myrtles.  There  is  La  JMettrie,  who 
only  remains  here  because  he  is  con- 
vinced that  my  Cape  wine  is  pure,  and 
my  pates  de  foie  gras  truly  from  Stras- 
bourg. There  is  D'Argens,  who 
sought  safety  in  Prussia  because  iu 
every  other  land  in  Europe  there  are 
sweethearts  waiting    and  sighing  for 


FREDERICK   THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


235 


aim,  to  whom  he  has  sworn  a  thousand 
oaths  of  constancy.  There  is  Bastiani, 
who  only  remains  with  us  while  the 
Silesian  dames,  who  have  frankly  con- 
fessed their  sins  to  him  and  been  ab- 
solved, find  time  and  opportunity  to 
commit  other  peccadilloes,  which  they 
will  do  zealously,  in  order  to  confess 
them  once  more  to  the  handsome  Abbe 
Bastiani.  And  lastly,  there  is  my 
lord-marshal,  the  noblest  and  best  of 
all,  whose  presence  we  owe  to  the  firm- 
ness of  his  political  principles  and  the 
misfortunes  of  the  house  of  Stuart." 

"  And  there  is  the  Solomon  of  the 
North,"  cried  Voltaire  —  *^  there  is 
Frederick,  the  youngest  of  us  all,  and 
the  wisest — the  philosopher  of  Sans- 
Souci.  There  sits  Apollo,  son  of  the 
gods,  who  has  descended  from  Olympus 
to  be  our  king." 

"Let  us  not  speak  of  kings,"  said 
Frederick.  "When  the  sun  goes 
down,  there  is  no  king  at  Sans-Souci  ; 
he  leaves  the  house  and  retires  into 
another  castle,  God  only  knows  where. 
We  are  all  equal  and  wholly  sans  gene. 
At  this  table  there  are  no  distinctions  ; 
we  are  seven  friends,  who  laugh  and 
chat  freely  with  each  other  ;  or,  if  you 
prefer  it,  seven  wise  men." 

"  This  is  then  the  Confidence-Table," 
said  Voltaire,  "  of  which  D'Argens  has 
BO  often  spoken  to  me,  and  which  has 
seemed  to  me  like  the  Round-Table  of 
King  Arthur.  Long  live  the  Confi- 
dence-Table ! " 

"  It  shall  live,"  cried  the  king,  "  and 
we  will  each  one  honor  this,  our  first 
sitting,  by  showing  our  confidence  in 
each  other.  Every  one  shall  relate 
something  piquant  and  strange  of  his 
past  life,  some  lively  anecdote,  or 
Bome  sweet  little  mystery,  which  we 
dare  trust  to  our  friends,  but  not  to  our 
wives.    The  oldest  begins  first." 

*'  I  am  afraid  I  am  that,"  said  Vol- 
taire, "  but  your  majesty  must  confess 
that  my  heart  has  neither  white  hair 


nor  wrinkles.  Old  age  is  a  terrible  old 
wcmian  who  slides  quietly,  grinning 
and  threateving,  behind  every  man,  and 
watches  the  moment  when  she  dares 
lay  ujion  him  the  mask  of  weary  years 
through  which  he  has  lived  and  suf- 
fered. She  has,  alas!  fastened  her 
wrinkled  mask  upon  my  face,  but  my 
heart  is  young  and  green,  and  if  the 
women  were  not  so  short-sighted  as  to 
look  only  upon  my  outward  visage,  if 
they  would  condescend  to  look  within, 
they  would  no  longer  call  me  the  old 
Voltaire,  but  would  love  and  adore 
me,  even  as  they  did  in  my  youth." 

''Listen  well,  friends;  he  will  no 
doubt  tell  us  of  some  duchess  who 
placed  him  upon  an  altar  and  bowed 
down  and  worshipped  him." 

"  No,  sire,  I  will  tell  you  of  an  in- 
jury, the  bitterest  I  ever  experienced, 
and  which  I  can  never  forget." 

"  As  if  he  had  ever  forgotten  an  injury 
unless  he  had  revenged  it  threefold  !  " 
cried  D'Argens. 

"And  chopped  up  his  enemy  for 
pastry  and  eaten  him,"  said  La  Mettrie. 

"  Truly,  if  I  should  eat  all  my  ene- 
mies, I  should  suffer  from  an  everlasting 
indigestion,  and,  in  my  despair,  I  might 
fly  to  La  Mettrie  for  help.  It  is  well 
known  that  when  you  suSer  from  incu- 
rable diseases,  you  seek,  at  last,  coun- 
sel of  the  quack." 

"•You  forget  that  La  Mettrie  is  a 
regular  physician,"  said  the  king,  with 
seeming  earnestness. 

"  On  the  contrary,  he  remembered  it 
well,"  said  La  Mettrie,  smiling.  "The 
best  physician  is  the  greatest  quack,  or 
the  most  active  grave-digger,  if  you 
prefer  it." 

"Silence!"  said  the  king.  "Vol- 
taire has  the  floor ;  he  will  tell  us  of 
the  greatest  ofience  he  ever  received. 
Give  attention." 

"  Alas  !  my  heart  is  sad,  sire ;  of  all 
other  pain,  the  pain  of  looking  back 
into  the  past  is  the  most  bitter.    I  see 


i?36 


BERLIN   AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


myself  again  a  young  man.  the  Arouet 
to  whom  Ninon  de  rEuclos  gave  her 
library  and  a  pension,  and  who  was 
confined  for  twenty  years  to  the  Bas- 
tile  because  he  loved  God  and  the  king 
too  little,  and  the  charming  jMarquise 
de  Villiers  and  some  other  ladies  of  the 
court  too  much.  Besides  these  exalted 
ladies,  there  was  a  beautiful  young 
maiden  whom  I  loved — ^perhaps  l)e- 
cause  she  had  one  quality  which  I  had 
never  remarked  in  the  possession  of  my 
more  noble  mistresses — she  was  inno- 
cent !  Ah,  friends,  you  should  have 
seen  Phillis,  and  you  wduld  have  con- 
fessed that  no  rose-bud  was  lovelier,  no 
lily  purer,  than  she.  Phillis  was  the 
daughter  of  a  gypsy  and  a  mouse- 
catcher,  and  danced  on  the  tight-roiie 
in  the  city  gardens." 

"Ah,  it  appears  to  me  the  goddess 
of  innocence  dances  always  upon  the 
tight-rope  in  this  world,"  said  the  king. 
"  I  should  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that 
even  your  little  Phillis  had  a  fall." 

"Sire,  she  fell,  but  in  my  arms;  and 
we  swore  eternal  love  and  constancy. 
You  all  know  from  experience  the  qual- 
ity and  fate  of  such  oaths ;  they  are 
the  kindling-wood  with  which  the  fire 
of  love  is  sustained ;  but,  alas,  kindling 
and  fire  soon  burn  out!  Who  is  re- 
sponsible ?  Our  fire  burned  long  ;  but, 
think  you,  my  Phillis,  whom  I  had  re- 
moved from  the  tight-rope,  and  ex- 
alted to  a  dancer  upon  the  stage,  was 
so  innocent  and  naive  as  to  believe  that 
our  love  must  at  last  be  crowned  with 
marriage  !  I,  however,  was  a  republican, 
and  feared  all  crowns.  I  declared  that 
Ninon  de  I'Enclos  had  made  me  swear 
never  to  marry,  lest  my  grandchildren 
should  fall  in  love  with  me  as  hers  had 
done  with  her." 

"Precaution  is  praiseworthy,"  said 
La  Mettrie.  "  The  devil's  grand- 
mother had  also  a  husband,  and  her 
grandsons  might  have  fallen  in  love 
with  her." 


"Phillis  did  not  take  me  for  the 
devil's  grandfather,  but  for  the  devil 
himself  Slie  cried,  and  shrieked,  and 
cast  my  oaths  of  constancy  in  my 
teeth.  I  did  not  die  of  remorse,  nor  she 
of  love,  and,  to  prove  her  constancy, 
she  married  a  rich  Duke  de  Venta- 
dour." 

"  And  you,  no  doubt,  gave  away  the 
bride,  and  swore  you  had  never  known 
a  purer  woman  !  " 

"  No,  sire,  I  was  at  that  time  again  in 
the  Bastile,  and  left  it  only  as  an  exile 
from  France.  When  at  last  I  was  al- 
lowed to  return  to  Paris,  I  sought 
out  my  Duchess  de  Ventadour,  my 
Phillis  of  former  times.  I  found  her  a 
distinguished  lady ;  she  had  forgotten 
the  follies  of  her  youth  ;  had  forgotten 
her  father,  the  rope  -  dancer ;  her 
mother  the  mouse-catcher.  She  had  no 
remembrance  of  the  young  Arouet,  to 
whom  she  had  sworn  to  say  only  '  tu ' 
and  '  toi.^  Now,  she  was  grave  and 
dignified,  and  '  Vous,  monsieur,^  was  on 
her  fair  lip.  Thanks  to  the  heraldry 
office,  she  had  become  the  daughter  ol 
a  distinguislied  Spaniard,  blessed  with 
at  least  seven  ancestors.  Phillis  gave 
good  dinners,  had  good  wine,  and  the 
world  overlooked  her  somewhat  ob- 
scure lineage.  She  was  the  acknowl- 
edged and  respected  Duchess  de  Ven- 
tadour. She  was  still  beautiful,  but 
quite  deaf;  consequently  her  voice  was 
loud  and  coarse,  when  she  believed 
herself  to  be  whispering.  She  invited 
me  to  read  some  selections  from  ruy 
new  work  in  her  saloon,  and  I  was 
weak  enough,  to  accept  the  invitation. 
I  had  just  completed  my  '  Brutus,'  and 
burned  with  ambition  to  receive  the 
applause  of  the  Parisiennes.  I  com- 
menced to  read  aloud  my  tragedy  of 
'  Brutus'  in  the  saloon  of  the  duchess, 
surrounded  by  a  circle  of  distinguished 
nobles,  erament  in  knowledge  and  art 
I  was  listened  to  in  breathless  attention 
In  the  deep  silence  which  surrounded 


FREDEUICK  THE  GREAT  ANT)  HIS  FRIENDS. 


237 


me,  in  the  glowing  eyes  of  my  audience, 
in  the  murmurs  of  applause  which 
greeted  me,  I  saw  that  I  was  still  Vol- 
taire, and  that  the  hangman's  hands, 
which  had  burned  my  '■  Lettrea  Phih- 
sophiques,^  had  not  destroyed  my  fame 
or  extinguished  my  genius.  While  I 
read,  a  servant  entered  upon  tiptoe  to 
rekindle  the  fire.  The  Duchess  de  Ven- 
tadour  sat  near  the  chimney.  She 
whispered,  or  thought  she  whispered, 
to  her  servant.  I  read  a  little  louder, 
to  drown  her  words.  I  was  in  the 
midst  of  one  of  the  grandest  scenes  of 
ray  tragedy.  My  own  heart  trembled 
with  emotion.  Here  and  there  I  saw 
eyes,  which  were  not  wont  to  weep, 
filled  with  tears,  and  heard  sighs  from 
trembling  lips,  accustomed  only  to 
laughter  and  smiles.  *And  now  I  came 
to  the  soliloquy  of  Brutus.  He  was  re- 
solving whetlier  he  would  sacrifice  his 
son's  life  to  his  fatherland.  There  was 
a  solemn  pause,  and  now,  in  the  midst 
of  the  profound  silence,  the  Duchess  de 
Ventadour  in  a  shrill  voice,  which  she 
believed  to  be  inaudible,  said  to  her 
servant :  '  Do  not  fail  to  serve  mustard 
with  the  pig's  head  ! '  " 

A  peal  of  laughter  interrupted  Vol- 
taire, in  which  he  reluctantly  joined, 
being  completely  carried  away  by  the 
general  mirth. 

"That  was  indeed  very  piquant,  and 
I  think  you  must  have  been  greatly  en- 
couraged." 

"  Did  you  eat  of  the  pig's  head,  or 
were  your  teeth  on  edge  ? " 

"  No,  they  were  sharp  enough  to  bite, 
and  I  bit !     In  my  first  rage  I  closed  my 

lx)ok,  and  cried  out :  '  Madame ! 

"Well !  as  you  have  pig's  head,  you  do 
not  requii-e  that  Brutus  should  offer  up 
the  head  of  his  son ! '  1  was  on  the 
point  of  leaving  the  room,  but  the  poor 
duchess,  who  was  just  beginning  to 
comprehend  her  unfortunate  interrup- 
tion, hastened  after  me,  and  entreated 
me  80  earnestly  to  remain  and  read 


further,  that  I  consented.  I  remained 
and  read,  but  not  from  '  Brutus.'  My 
rage  made  me,  for  the  moment,  an  im- 
provisator. Seated  near  to  the  duchess, 
surrounded  by  the  proud  and  hypocrit- 
ical nobles,  who  acknowledged  Phillis 
only  because  she  had  a  fine  house  and 
gave  good  dinnere,  I  improvised  a  poem 
which  recalled  to  the  grand  duchess 
and  her  satellites  the  early  days  of  the 
fair  PhUlis,  and  brought  the  laugh  on 
my  side.  My  poem  was  called 'Z««tt 
et  le  Tous.^  Kow,  gentlemen,  this  is  the 
story  of  my  'Brutus'  and  the  pig'a 
head." 

"I  acknowledge  that  it  is  a  good 
story.  It  will  be  difficult  for  you, 
D'Argens,  to  relate  so  good  a  one,"  said 
the  king. 

"  I  dare  not  make  the  attempt,  sire. 
Voltaire  was  ever  the  child  of  good 
fortime,  and  his  life  and  adventures 
have  been  extraordinary,  while  I  was 
near  sharing  the  common  fate  of  younger 
sons.  I  was  destined  for  the  priest- 
hood." 

'*  That's  a  droll  idea,  indeed  ! "  said 
Frederick.  "D'Argens,  who  believes 
in  nothing,  intended  for  a  priest !  How 
did  you  escape  this  danger  i " 

"Through  the  example  of  my  dear 
brother,  who  was  of  a  passionate  piety, 
and  became  in  the  school  of  the  Jesuits 
so  complete  a  fanatic  and  bigot  that  he 
thundered  out  his  fierce  tirades  against 
all  earthly  joys  and  pastimes,  no  matter 
how  innocent  they  were.  To  resemble 
the  holy  Xavier  and  the  sanctified  ^and 
childlike  Alois  Gonzago,  was  his  highest 
ideal.  In  the  extremity  of  his  piety 
and  prudery  he  slipped  into  the  art- 
gallery  of  our  eldest  brother  and  de- 
stroyed Titian's  most  splendid  paintings 
and  the  glorious  statues  of  the  olden 
time.  He  gloried  in  this  act,  and  called 
it  a  holy  offering  to  virtue.  He  could 
not  understand  that  it  was  vandalism. 
Our  family  had  serious  fears  for  the  in- 
tellect of  this  poor  young  saint,  mad- 


238 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


dened  by  the  fanaticism  of  the  Jesuits. 
Tliey  sought  counsel  of  tlie  oldest  and 
wisest  of  our  house,  the  Bishop  of  Ban- 
nes.  After  thinking  awhile,  the  bishop 
said  :  '  I  will  soon  cure  the  young  man 
of  this  folly  ;  I  will  make  him  a  priest.' " 

"  Truly,  your  uncle,  the  bishop,  was 
a  wise  man ;  he  drove  out  folly  with 
folly.  He  knew  well  that  no  one  had 
less  reverence  for  the  churches  than 
those  who  have  built  them,  and  are 
their  priests." 

"  That  was  the  opinion  of  my  very 
worthy  uncle.  He  said,  with  a  sly 
laugh  :  '  When  he  has  heard  a  few  con- 
fessions, he  will  understand  the  ways 
of  the  world  better  ! '  The  bishop  was 
right.  My  brother  was  consecrated. 
In  a  short  time  he  became  very  tolerant 
and  considerate,  as  a  man  and  as  a 
father  confessor." 

"  But  you  have  not  told  us,  marquis, 
how  the  fanaticism  of  your  brother 
liberated  you  from  the  tonsure  ? "  said 
the  king. 

"My  father  found  I  would  commence 
my  priestly  life  with  as  much  intoler- 
ance as  my  brother  had  done.  He  there- 
fore proposed  to  me  to  consecrate  my- 
self to  the  world,  and,  instead  of  pray- 
ing in  the  church,  to  fight  for  the  cross. 
The  thought  pleased  me,  and  I  became 
a  Knight  of  Malta." 

"  Your  first  deed  of  arms  was,  with- 
out doubt,  to  seat  yourself,  and  write 
your  '  Lettres  Juives,'' "  said  the  king ; 
"  those  inspiring  letters  in  which  the 
knjght  of  the  cross  mocks  at  Chris- 
tianity and  casts  his  glove  as  a  challenge 
to  revealed  religion." 

"  ^o,  sire,  I  began  my  knightly  course 
Dy  entering  the  land  of  heathen  and 
idolaters,  to  see  if  a  man  could  be  truly 
happy  and  contented  in  a  land  where 
there  was  neither  Messiah  nor  crucifix 
—I  went  to  Turkey." 

"  But  you  carried  your  talisman  with 
you  ?  "  said  the  Abb6  Bastiani — ''  you 
wore  the  cross  upon  your  mantle  ?  " 


"  A  remark  worthy  of  our  pious  abbg," 
said  Frederick ;  "  no  one  knows  better 
the  protecting  power  of  the  cross  than 
the  piiest  who  founded  it.  Tell  us, 
marquis,  did  your  talisman  protect  you  ? 
Did  you  become  an  apostate  to  the  true 
faith  ? » 

"  Sire,  I  wished  first  to  see  their  tem- 
ples and  their  mode  of  worship,  before 
I  decided  whether  I  would  be  an  un- 
believing believer  or  a  believing  unbe- 
liever." 

" I  think,"  said  Voltaire,  "you  have 
never  been  a  believer,  or  made  a  con- 
vert ;  you  have  made  nothing  but 
debts." 

"  That  is,  perhaps,  because  I  am  not 
a  great  writer,  and  do  not  understand 
usury  and  speculation,"  said  D'Argens, 
quietly.  "  Besides,  no  courtesan  made 
me  her  heir,  and  no  mistress  obtained 
me  a  pension  !  " 

"  Look  now,"  said  the  king,  "  our 
good  marquis  is  learning  from  you, 
Voltaire;  he  is  learning  to  scratch  and 
bite." 

"  Yes,"  said  Voltaire ;  "  there  are 
creatures  whom  all  men  imitate,  even 
in  their  vile  passions  and  habits ;  per- 
haps they  take  them  for  virtues." 

The  face  of  the  marquis  was  suflfused ; 
he  rose  angrily,  and  was  about  to  an- 
swer, but  the  king  laid  his  hand  upon  his 
arm.  "  Do  not  reply  to  him  ;  you  know 
that  our  great  poet  changes  himself 
sometimes  into  a  wicked  tiger,  and 
does  not  understand  the  courtly  language 
of  men.  Do  not  regard  him,  but  go  on 
with  your  story." 

The  king  drew  back  his  hand  sud- 
denly, and,  seemingly  by  accident, 
touched  the  silver  salt-cellar ;  it  fell 
and  scattered  the  salt  upon  the  table. 
The  marquis  uttered  a  light  cry,  and 
turned  pale. 

"  Alas !  "  cried  the  king,  with  well- 
aflfected  terror,  "  what  a  misfortune ! 
Quick,  quick,  my  friends  !  let  us  use  an 
antidote  against  the  wiles  of  the  demoiu^ 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT   AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


239 


wliich  our  good  marquis  maintains 
spring  always  from  an  overtuiTied  salt- 
cellar. Quick,  quick  !  take  each  of  you 
a  pincTi  of  salt,  and  throw  it  up  into  the 
burners  of  the  chandeliers ;  listen  how 
it  crackles  and  splutters !  These  are 
the  evil  spirits  in  hell-fire,  are  they  not, 
marquis  ?  Now  let  each  one  take 
another  pinch,  and  throw  it,  laughing 
merrily,  over  the  left  shoulder.  You, 
Voltaire,  take  the  largest  portion,  and 
cast  it  from  you ;  I  think  you  have  al- 
ways too  much  salt,  and  your  most 
beautiful  poems  are  thereby  made  un- 
palatable." 

"Ah,  sire,  you  speak  of  the  salt  of 
my  "wit.  No  one  remembers  that  the 
tears  which  have  bathed  my  face  have 
fallen  upon  my  lips,  and  become  crystal- 
lized into  biting  sarcasms.  Only  the 
wretched  and  sorely  tried  are  sharp  of 
wit  and  bitter  of  speech." 

"Not  so,"  said  La  Mettrie;  "these 
things  are  the  consequence  of  bad  diges- 
tion. This  machine  is  not  acted  upon 
by  what  you  poets  call  spirit,  and  I  call 
brain;  it  reacts  upon  itself.  When  a 
man  is  melancholy,  it  comes  from  his 
stomach.  To  be  gay  and  cheery,  to 
have  your  spirits  clear  and  fresh,  you 
have  nothing  more  to  do  than  to  eat 
heartily  and  have  a  good  digestion. 
Molifere  could  not  have  written  such 
glorious  comedies  if  he  had  fed  upon 
sour  krout  and  old  peas,  instead  of  the 
w^oodcock,  grouse,  and  truffles  which 
fell  to  him  from  King  Louis's  table. 
Man  is  only  a  machine,  nothing  more." 

"  La  Mettrie,  I  will  give  you  to-mor- 
row nothing  but  grouse  and  truffles  to 
eat :  woe  to  you,  then,  if  the  day  after 
you  do  not  write  me  just  such  a  comedy 
as  Moli&re's  I  But  we  entirely  forget 
that  the  marquis  owes  us  the  conclu- 
sion of  his  story ;  we  left  him  a  Knight 
of  Malta,  and  we  cannot  abandon  him 
in  this  position ;  that  would  be  to  con- 
demn him  to  piety  and  virtue.  Go  on, 
dear  marquis,  we  have  thrown  the  salt 


and  banished  the  demons — go  on,  then, 
with  your  history." 

"  Well,"  said  the  marquis,  "lo  relate 
it  is  less  dangerous  than  to  live  through 
it.  I  must  confess,  however,  that  the 
perils  of  life  have  also  their  charms.  I 
wished,  as  I  had  the  honor  to  say  to  you, 
to  witness  a  religious  service  in  the  great 
mosque  at  Constantinople,  and  by  my 
prayers,  supported  by  a  handful  of  gold- 
pieces,  I  succeeded  in  convincing  the 
Turk,  who  had  the  care  of  the  key  to 
the  superb  Sophia,  that  it  was  not  an 
unpardonable  sin  to  allow  an  unbeliev- 
ing Christian  to  witness  the  holy  wor- 
ship of  an  unbelieving  Mussulman.  In- 
deed, he  risked  nothing  but  the  bas- 
tinado ;  while  I,  if  discovered,  would  be 
given  over  to  the  hangman,  and  could 
only  escape  my  fate  by  becoming  a  Mus- 
sulman." 

"What  an  earnest  and  profitable 
Christian  Holy  Mother  Church  would 
thus  have  lost  in  the  author  of  Les 
Lettres  Juives  !  "  said  Frederick,  laugh- 
ing. 

"But  what  an  exquisite  harem  the 
city  of  Constantinople  would  have 
won  !  "  cried  Voltaire. 

"  What  a  happiness  for  you,  my  lord- 
marshal,  that  your  beautiful  Mohamme- 
dan was  not  then  born  ;  the  marquis 
would  without  doubt  have  bought  her 
from  you  ! " 

"If  Zuleima  will  allow  herself  to  be 
bought,  there  will  be  nothing  to  pay," 
said  the  lord-marshal,  with  a  soft  smile. 

"  You  are  right,  my  lord,"  said  the 
marquis,  with  a  meaning  side  glance  at 
Voltaii-e,  "  you  are  right ;  nothing  is 
more  despicable  than  the  friendship 
which  can  be  purchased." 

"  You  succeeded,  however,  in  bribing 
the  good  Mussulman,"  said  Algarotti, 
"  and  enjoyed  the  unheard-of  happiness 
of  witnessing  their  worship." 

"  Yes,  the  night  before  a  grand /ete, 
my  Turk  led  me  to  the  mosque,  and  hid 
me  behind  a  great  picture  which  was 


240 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


placed  before  one  of  the  doors  of  the 
tribune.  This  was  seemingly  a  safe 
hiding-place.  The  tribune  was  not 
used,  and  years  had  passed  since  the 
door  liad  been  opened.  It  lay  too,  upon 
the  southern  side  of  the  mosque,  and 
you  know  that  the  worshippers  of  Mo- 
hammed must  ever  turn  theii*  faces 
toward  Mecca,  that  is,  to  the  morning 
sun  ;  I  was  sure,  therefore,  that  none  of 
these  pious  unbelievers  would  ever  look 
toward  me.  From  my  concealment  I 
could  with  entire  comfort  observe  all 
that  passed  ;  but  I  made  my  Turk  most 
unhai)py  in  the  eagerness  of  my  curios- 
ity. I  sometimes  stepped  from  behind 
my  picture,  and  leaned  a  little  over  the 
railing.  My  poor  Mussulman  entreated 
me  with  such,  a  piteous  mien,  and  pointed 
to  the  soles  of  his  feet  with  such  an- 
guish, that  I  was  forced  to  take  pity  on 
him  and  withdraw  into  my  conceal- 
ment. But  at  last,  in  spite  of  the 
solemnities,  and  my  own  ardent  piety, 
the  animal  was  roused  within  and  over- 
came me.  I  was  hungry  !  and  as  I  had 
expected  this  result,  I  had  placed  a 
good  bottle  of  wine  and  some  ham  and 
fresh  bread  in  my  pocket.  I  now  took 
them  out,  spread  my  treasures  upon  the 
floor,  and  began  to  breakfast.  The  Turk 
looked  at  me  with  horror,  and  he  would 
not  have  been  surprised  if  the  roof  of 
the  holy  mosque  had  fallen  upon  the 
Christian  hound  who  dared  to  desecrate 
it  by  drinking  wine  and  eating  ham 
within  its  precincts,  both  of  which  were 
strictly  forbidden  by  the  prophet.  But 
the  roof  did  not  fall,  not  even  when  I 
forced  my  Mussulman  to  eat  ham  and 
drink  wine  with  me,  by  threatening  to 
show  myself  openly  if  he  refused.  He 
commenced  his  unholy  meal  with  dark 
frowns  and  threatening  glances,  ever 
looking  up,  as  if  he  feared  the  sword 
ofthe  prophet  would  cleave  him  asunder. 
Soon,  however,  he  familiarized  himself 
with  his  sin,  and  forgot  the  holy  cere- 
monies which  were  being  solemnized. 


When  the  service  was  over,  and  all 
others  had  left  the  mosque,  he  prayed 
me  to  wait  yet  a  little  longer,  and  as 
the  best  of  friends,  we  finished  the  rest 
of  my  bacon  and  drank  the  last  drop 
of  my  wine  to  the  health  of  the  prophet 
laughing  merrily  over  the  dangers  we 
had  escaped.  As  at  last  we  were  about 
to  separate,  my  good  Turk  was  sad  and 
thoughtful,  and  he  confessed  to  me  that 
he  had  the  most  glowing  desire  to  be- 
come a  Christian.  The  bacon  and  wine 
had  refreshed  him  marvellously,  and  he 
was  enthusiastic  for  a  religion  which 
offered  such  glorious  food,  not  only  for 
the  soul,  but  for  the  body.  I  was  too 
good  a  Christian  not  to  encourage  his 
holy  desires.  I  took  him  into  my  ser- 
vice, and  when  we  had  left  Turkey,  and 
found  ourselves  on  Christian  soil,  my 
Mussulman  gratified  the  thirst  of  his 
soul,  and  became  a  son  of  Holy  Mother 
Church,  and  felt  no  remorse  of  con 
science  in  eating  ham  and  drinking  wine 
So  my  visit  to  the  holy  mosque  was  rich 
in  blessed  consequences ;  it  saved  a  soul, 
and  my  wine  and  my  ham  plucked  a 
man  from  the  hell-fire  of  unbelief.  That 
is,  I  believe,  the  only  time  T  ever  suc- 
ceeded in  making  a  proselyte." 

"  The  salvation  of  that  soul  will  free 
you  from  condemnation  and  insure  your 
own  eternal  happiness.  When  you  come 
to  die,  marquis,  you  dare  say,  '  I  have 
not  lived  in  vain,  I  have  won  a  soul  to 
heaven.' " 

"  Provided,"  cried  Voltaire,  "  that  the 
bacon  with  which  you  converted  the 
Turk  was  not  part  of  one  of  the  beasts 
into  which  the  devils  were  cast,  as  is 
written  in  the  Holy  Scriptures.  If  this 
was  so,  then  the  newly-baked  Christian 
has  certainly  eaten  of  everlasting  dam- 
nation." 

"  Let  us  hope  that  this  is  not  so," 
said  Frederick ;  "  and  now,  my  lord- 
marshal,  it  is  your  turn  to  give  us  a 
piquant  anecdote ;  or,  if  you  prefer  it, 
an  heroic  deed  from  your  life,  so  rich  in 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  A^^)  HIS  FRIENDS. 


241 


rirtue,  magnanimity,  truth,  and  con- 
stancy. Ah,  messieurs,  let  us  now  be 
thoughtful,  cast  down  our  eyes,  and 
exalt  our  hearts.  A  virtuous  man  is 
about  to  speak :  truly  virtue  is  a  holy 
goddess  loved  by  few,  to  whom  few 
altars  are  erected,  and  who  has  few 
priests  in  her  service,  jyiy  lord-marshal 
is  consecrated  to  her  altar ;  you  may 
well  believe  this  when  I  assure  you  of 
it — I,  who  have  been  so  often  deceived, 
and  often  tempted  to  believe  no  longer 
in  the  existence  of  virtue.  My  noble 
Keith  has  forced  me  to  be  credulous. 
This  faith  comforts  me,  and  I  thank 
him." 

With  a  glance  of  inexpressible  love 
he  gave  his  hand  to  his  friend,  who 
pressed  it  to  his  breast.  The  faces  of 
all  present  were  grave,  almost  stern. 
The  words  of  the  king  were  a  reproach, 
and  they  felt  wounded.  Frederick 
thought  not  of  them ;  he  looked  alone 
upon  the  noble,  handsome  face  of  Lord 
Keith  not  remembering  that  the  love 
and  consideration  manifested  for  him 
might  excite  the  envy  and  jealousy  of 
his  other  friends. 

"  Now,  my  lord,  will  you  commence 
your  history,  or  are  we  too  impure  and 
sinful  to  listen  to  any  of  the  holy  myste- 
ries of  your  pure  life  ?  " 

"  Ah,  sire,  there  are  no  mysteries  in 
my  simple  life ;  it  lies  like  an  open  book 
before  the  eyes  of  my  king,  and,  indeed, 
to  all  the  world." 

"  In  that  pure  book  I  am  sure  that 
all  can  learn  wisdom  and  experience," 
said  Frederick.  "  It  is  a  book  of  rarest 
value,  in  which  every  nobleman  can 
learn  how  to  be  faithful  to  his  king  in 
dire  misfortune  and  to  the  gates  of 
iieatn.  Ah,  my  lord,  there  are  few  men 
like  yourself,  who  can  count  it  as  im- 
perishable fame  to  have  been  condemned 
to  the  scaffold.  The  Pretender  must, 
indeed,  be  a  most  noble  prince,  as  you 
were  willing  to  give  your  life  for  him." 

"  He  was  my  rightful  king  and  lord, 
18 


and  I  owed  him  allegiance.  That  I 
was  condemned  for  him,  and  paj-doned, 
and  banished  from  England,  I  cannot 
now  consider  a  misfortune,  as  I  have 
thereby  enjoyed  the  great  happiness  of 
being  near  your  majesty.  But  you 
must  not  think  too  highly  of  my  con- 
stancy to  '  the  Pretender ; '  it  was  not 
pure  loyalty,  and  if  I  carelessly  and 
rashly  cast  my  life  upon  a  wild  chance, 
it  was  because  the  world  had  but  little 
value  for  me.  In  the  despair  and  an- 
guish of  my  heart  I  should  have  called 
Death  a  welcome  friend.  Had  I  been 
happier  I  should  have  been  less  brave.'' 

'\And  will  you  tell  us,  my  lord,  why 
you  were  unhappy  ? " 

"  Sire,  mine  is  a  simple  little  history, 
such  as  is  daily  acted  out  in  this  weary 
world.  "We  are  all,  however,  proud  to 
think  that  none  have  suffered  as  we 
have  done.  There  are  many  li\-ing 
hearts  covered  as  with  a  gravestone, 
under  which  every  earthly  happiness  is 
shrouded,  but  the  world  is  ignorant  and 
goes  laughing  by.  My  heart  has  bled 
in  secret,  and  my  happiness  is  a  re- 
membrance ;  my  life  once  promised  to 
be  bright  and  clear  as  the  golden  morn- 
ing Sim.  The  future  beckoned  to  me 
with  a  thousand  glorious  promises,  and 
greeted  me  with  winning,  magic  smiles. 
I  saw  a  young,  lovely,  innocent,  modest 
maiden,  like  a  spring  rose,  with  heav- 
en's dew  still  hanging  untouched  upon 
its  soft  leaves.  I  saw  and  loved;  it 
seemed  to  me  God  had  sent  me  in  her 
His  most  wondrous  revelation.  I  loved, 
I  worshipped  her.  She  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  distinguished  French  noble.  I 
went  to  Paris,  a  young  and  modest 
man,  highly  commended  to  many  in- 
fluential and  powerful  families  of  the 
court.  We  met  daily;  at  first  with 
wonder  and  surprise;  then,  with  deep 
emotion,  we  heard  each  others  voicea 
without  daring  to  speak  together ;  and 
then,  at  last,  I  no  longer  dared  to  uttei 
a  word  in  her  presence,  because  my 


242 


BERLIN    AND    SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


voice  trembled  and  I  could  not  control 
it.  One  day,  as  we  sat  silently  next 
each  other  in  a  large  assembly,  I  mur- 
mured in  low,  broken  tones :  '  If  I 
dare  to  love  you,  would  you  forgive 
me  ? '  She  did  not  look  uji,  but  she  said, 
'I  should  be  happy.'  We  then  sank 
again  into  our  accustomed  silence,  only 
looking  from  time  to  time  into  each 
other's  happy  eyes.  This  lasted  six 
weeks,  six  weeks  of  silent  but  inexpressi- 
ble happiness.  At  last  I  overcame  my 
timidity  and  made  known  the  sweet 
mystery  of  my  love.  I  demanded  the 
hand  of  my  Victoire  from  her  father ;  he 
gave  a  cheerful  consent,  and  led  me  to 
my  beloved.  I  pressed  her  to  my  heart, 
drunk  with  excess  of  joy.  At  this  mo- 
ment her  grandmother  entered  with  a 
stern  face  and  scornful  glance.  She 
asked  if  I  was  a  Protestant.  This  fear- 
ful question  waked  me  from  my  dream 
of  bliss.  In  the  rapture  of  the  last  few 
months  I  had  thought  of  nothing  but 
my  love.  Love  had  become  my  religion 
and  I  needed  no  other  influence  to  lead 
me  to  worship  God.  But  this,  alas,  was 
not  sufficient !  I  declared  myself  a 
Protestant.  Victoire  utter  a  cry  of  an- 
guish, and  sank  insensible  into  her 
father's  arms.  Two  days  afterward  I 
left  France.  Victoire  would  not  see 
me,  and  refused  my  hand.  I  returned 
to  England,  broken-hearted,  desperate, 
almost  insane.  In  this  delirium  of  grief 
I  joined  '  the  Pretender,'  and  undertook 
for  him  and  his  cause  the  wildest  and 
most  dangerous  adventures,  which  end- 
ed, at  last,  in  my  being  captured  and 
condemned  to  the  block.  This,  your 
majesty,  was  the  only  love  of  my  life. 
You  see  I  had,  indeed,  but  little  to 
relate." 

Frederick  s;iid  nothing,  and  no  one 
dared  to  break  the  silence.  Even  Vol- 
taire repressed  the  malicious  jest  which 
played  upon  his  lip,  and  was  forced  to 
content  himself  with  a  mocking  smile. 

"  What  were  the  words  that  your 


father  spoke  when  he  sent  you  forth  as 
a  man  into  the  world?  I  think  you 
once  repeated  them  to  me,"  said  Fred- 
erick. 

"  Quand  V03  yeux,  en  nalssant,  s'ouvraient  h  la 

lumifire, 
Chacun  voussonrialt,  tnon  fils,  et  vons  pleuriez. 
Vivtz  si  bien,  qu'ua  jour,  a  votre  derni6re  heure, 
Chacun  verse  des  pleurs,  et  qu'on  vous  voio  bou- 

ilre." 

"You  have  fulfilled  your  father's 
wish,"  said  the  king.  "  You  have  so 
lived,  that  you  can  smile  when  all  others 
are  weeping  for  you,  and  no  man  who 
has  loved  can  forget  you.  I  am  sure 
your  Victoire  will  never  forget  you. 
Have  you  not  seen  her  since  that  first 
parting  ? " 

"  Yes,  sire,  I  have  seen  her  once  again, 
as  I  came  to  Prussia,  after  being  ban- 
ished forever  from  England.  Ah,  sire, 
that  was  a  happy  meeting  after  twenty 
years  of  separation.  The  pain  and  grief 
of  love  were  over,  but  the  love  remained. 
We  confessed  this  to  each  other.  In  the 
beginning  there  was  sufiering  and  sor- 
row, then  a  sweet,  soft  remembrance  of 
our  love,  for  we  had  never  ceased  to 
think  upon  each  other.  It  seems  that 
to  love  faithfully  and  eternally  it  is  only 
necessary  to  love  truly  and  honorably, 
and  then  to  separate.  Custom  and 
daily  meeting  cannot  then  brush  the 
bloom  from  love's  light  wings ;  its 
source  is  in  heaven,  and  it  returns  to 
the  skies  and  shines  forever  and  inextin- 
guishable a  star  over  our  heads.  When 
I  looked  again  upon  Victoire  she  had 
been  a  long  time  married,  and  to  the 
world  she  had,  perhaps,  ceased  to  be 
l)eautiful.  To  me  she  will  be  ever 
lovely ;  and  as  she  looked  upon  me,  it 
seemed  tome  that  the  clouds  and  shad- 
ows had  been  lifted  from  my  life,  and  my 
sun  was  shining  clear.  But,  sire,  all 
this  has  no  interest  for  you.  How  ten- 
derly I  loved  Victoire  you  will  know, 
when  I  tell  you  that  the  only  poem  my 
uiipoetical  brain  has  ever  produced  wai 
written  for  her." 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT   AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


243 


"  Let  us  bear  it,  my  lord,"  said  the 
king. 

"  If  your  majesty  commands  it,  and 
Voltaire  will  forgive  it,"  said  the  lord- 
marshal. 

"  I  forgive  it,  my  lord,"  cried  Vol- 
taire. "  Since  I  listened  to  you  I  live 
in  a  land  of  wonders  and  soft  enchant- 
ments, whose  existence  I  have  never 
even  guessed,  and  upon  whose  bloom- 
ing, perfumed  beauty  I  scarcely  dare 
open  my  unholy  eyes.  The  fairy  tales 
of  my  dreamy  youth  seem  now  to  be 
true,  and  I  hear  a  language  which  we, 
poor  sons  of  France,  living  under  the 
regency  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  have 
no  knowledge  of.  I  entreat  you,  my 
lord,  let  us  hear  your  poem." 

Lord  Keith  bowed,  and,  leaning  back 
in  his  chair,  in  a  fall,  rich  voice,  he 
recited  the  follo-;ving  verses  : 

"  '  Un  trait  lancd  par  caprice 

M'atteisnit  dans  mon  prlntemps ; 

J'en  portc  la  cicatrice 

Encore,  sous  mes  cheveax  blancs. 

Crainnez  les  maux  qu'amonr  cause, 

Et  plaignez  un  inpense 

Qui  n'a  point  cueilli  la  rose, 

Et  qui  repine  a  b'psse.'  * 

''  And  now,"  said  Lord  Keith  rap- 
i<xly,  wishing  to  interrupt  ail  praise  and 
all  remark  as  to  bis  poem,  '•  I  have  yet 
a  confession  to  make,  and  if  you  have 
not  laughed  over  my  verses,  you  will 
surely  laugh  at  what  I  now  state.  Out 
of  love  for  my  lost  mistress,  I  became 
a  Catholic.  I  thought  that  the  faith, 
to  which  my  Victoire  offered  up  her 
love,  must  be  the  true  religion  in 
which  all  love  was  grounded.  I 
wished  to  be  hers  in  spiiit,  in  life,  and 
in  death.  In  spirit,  in  truth,  I  am  a 
Catholic;  and  now,  gentlemen,  you 
may  laugh." 

"  Sublime !  "  whispered  Voltaire. 

"  No  one  will  smile,"  said  the  king, 
sternly,  "  Joy  and  peace  to  him  who 
3  a  believer,  and  can  lay  his  heart 

*  Mdm^ires  de  la  Marquise  de  Cr6qul. 


upon  the  cross,  and  feel  strengthened 
and  supported  by  it.  He  will  not  wan- 
der in  strange  and  forbidden  paths,  as 
we  poor,  short-sighted  mortals  often 
do.  Will  you  tell  us  the  name  of  your 
beloved  mistress,  or  is  that  a  secret  ?  " 

"  Sire,  our  love  was  pure  and  inno- 
cent; we  dare  avow  it  to  the  whole 
world.  My  beloved's  name  was  Victoire 
de  Froulay ;  she  is  now  Marquise  de 
Crgqui." 

"  Ah,  the  Marquise  de  Cr^qui !  "  said 
Voltaire,  with  animation ;  "  one  of  the 
wittiest  and  most  celebrated  women  of 
Paris." 

"  She  is  still  living  ?  "  said  the  king, 
thoughtfully.  "  Would  you  like  to 
meet  her  again,  my  lord  ? " 

"  Yes,  your  majesty,  for  one  hour,  to 
say  to -her  that  I  am  a  Catholic,  and 
that  we  shall  meet  iu  heaven  ! " 

"  I  will  send  you  as  ambassador  to 
Paris,  my  lord,  and  you  shall  bear  the 
marquise  my  greetings."  * 

"  Your  majesty  will  thus  be  acting 
an  epigram  for  George  of  England," 
said  Voltaire,  laughing.  "  Two  of  his 
noblest  rebels  will  be  cementing  the 
friendship  of  France  and  Prussia. 
Lord  Tyrconnel,  the  Irishman,  is  am- 
bassador from  France  to  Prussia,  and 
my  Lord-Marshal  Keith  is  to  be  am- 
bassador from  Prussia  to  France.  Ah, 
my  lord  !  how  will  the  noble  marquise 
rejoice  when  her  faithful  knight  shall 
introduce  to  her  his  most  beautiful 
possession — the  young  and  lovely  Mo- 
hammedan Zuleima !  How  happy  will 
Zuleima  be  when  you  point  out  to  her 
the  woman  who  loved  you  so  fondly  1 
She  will  then  know,  my  lord,  that  you 
also  once  had  a  heart,  and  have  been 
beloved  by  a  woman." 

"  I  will  present  my  little  Zuleima  to 
the  marquise,"  said  the  lord-marshal; 
"  and,  when  I  tell  her  that  she  was  a 
bequest  of  my  dear  brother,  who,  at 

•  Loid  Keith  went  to  Paris,  as  an  ambasulor 
from  FruBsia,  in  ITSl. 


21i 


BERLIN  AXD  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


the  storming  of  Oscbakow,  where  he 
commanded  as  field-marshal,  rescued 
her  from  the  flames,  she  will  find  it 
just  and  kind  that  I  gave  the  poor 
orphan  a  home  and  a  father.  I  wish 
first,  however,  to  give  Zuleima  a  hus- 
band, if  your  majesty  will  allow  it. 
The  Tartar  Ivan,  my  chamberlain,  loves 
Zuleima,  and  she  shall  be  his  wife  if 
your  majesty  consents." 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Frederick ; 
"  but  I  fear  it  will  be  difficult  to  have 
this  marriage  solemnized  in  Berlin. 
Your  Tartar,  I  believe,  has  the  honor  to 
be  heathen." 

"  Sire,  he  is,  in  faith,  a  Persian." 

"  A  fire-worshipper,  then,"  said  Fred- 
erick. "  "Well,  I  propose  that  Voltaire 
shall  bless  this  marriage ;  where  fire  is 
worshipped  as  a  god,  Voltaire,  tire  man 
of  fire  and  fiame,  may  well  be  priest." 

"  Ah,  sire,  I  believe  we  are  all  Per- 
sians ;  surely,  we  all  worship  the  light, 
and  turn  aside  from  darkness.  You 
are  to  us  the  god  Ormuzd,  from  whom 
all  light  proceeds ;  and  every  priest  is 
for  us  as  Ahriman,  the  god  of  darkness. 
Be  gracious  to  me,  then,  your  majesty, 
and  do  not  call  upon  me  to  play  the 
7'6le  of  priest  even  in  jest.  But  why 
does  this  happy  son  of  the  heathen 
require  a  priest  ?  Is  not  the  sun-god 
Ormuzd  himself  present?  With  your 
majesty's  permission,  we  will  place  the 
loving  pair  upon  the  upper  terrace  of 
Sans-Souci,  where  they  will  be  baptized 
in  holy  fire  by  the  clear  rays  of  the 
mid-day  sun.  Then  the  divine  Mari- 
anna,  Cochois,  and  Denys  will  perform 
some  mystical  dance,  and  so  the  mar- 
riage will  be  solemnized  accordmg  to 
Persian  rites  and  ceremonies." 

"  And  then,  I  dare  hope  your  majes- 
ty will  give  a  splendid  wedding-feast, 
where  costly  wines  and  rich  and  rare 
viands  will  not  fail  us,"  said  La  Met- 
trie. 

"  Look,  now,  how  his  eyes  sparkle 
A^ith  anticipated  delights  1 "  cried  the 


king.  *'  La  Mettrie  would  consent  to 
wed  every  woman  in  the  world  if  he 
could  thereby  spend  his  whole  life  in 
one  continuous  wedding-feast ;  but 
listen,  sir,  before  you  eat  again,  you 
have  a  story  to  relate.  Discharge  this 
duty  at  once,  and  give  us  a  piquant  an- 
ecdote from  your  gay  life." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE    CbNFIDKNTIAL    DIKNEK. 

"  Your  majesty  desires  a  piquant  an 
ecdote  out  of  my  own  life,"  said  La 
Mettrie.  "  Is  there  any  thing  on  earth 
more  piquant  than  a  trufiie-pie  ?  Can 
any  thing  deserve  more  ardent  praise, 
and  fonder,  sweeter  remembrance,  than 
this  beautiful  revelation  of  man's  genius? 
Yes,  sire,  a  successful  trufile-pie  is  a 
sort  of  revealed  religion,  and  I  am  its 
devout,  consecrated  priest  I  One  day 
I  relinquished,  for  the  love  of  it,  a  con- 
siderable fortune,  a  handsome  house, 
and  a  very  pretty  bride,  and  I  confess 
that  even  now  a  truffle-pie  has  more 
iiTesistible  charms  for  me  than  any 
bride,  even  though  richly  endowed." 

"  And  was  there  ever  a  father  mad 
enough  to  give  his  daughter  to  the 
'  homme  machine  ?  '  "  said  the  king. 

"  Sire,  I  had  just  then  written  my 
'Penelope.'  Monsieur  van  Swiet,  of 
Leyden,  a  poor  invalid,  who  had  been 
for  weeks  confined  to  his  bed  by  a  cold, 
read  it,  and  laughed  so  heartily  over 
the  mockery  and  derision  at  the  gentle- 
men doctors,  that  he  fell  into  a  profuse 
persi^i ration — a  result  which  neither  the 
art  of  the  physicians  nor  the  prayers  of 
the  priests  had  been  able  to  accomplish. 
The  stiffness  in  his  lim])s  was  healed  ; 
in  fact,  he  was  restored  to  health  1  His 
first  excursion  was  to  see  me,  and  he 
implored  me  to  suggest  a  mode  bj 
which  he  could  manifest  his  gratitude 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


241 


'  Send  me  every  day  a  truffle-pie  and 
a  bottle  of  Hungarian  wine,'  I  replied. 
Swiet  was  greatly  amused.  'I  have 
something  better  than  a  truffle-pie,' 
said  he.  'I  have  a  daughter  who  will 
inherit  all  my  fortune.  You  are  not 
rich  in  ducats,  but  largely  endowed 
with  wit.  I  wish  that  my  grandchil- 
dren, who  will  be  immensely  wealthy, 
may  have  a  father  who  will  endow 
them  richly  with  intellect.  "Wed  my 
daughter,  and  present  me  with  a  grand- 
son exactly  like  yourself.'  I  accepted 
this  proposition,  and  promised  the 
good  Van  Swiet  to  become  his  son-in- 
law  in  eight  days  ;  to  dwell  with  him 
in  his  house,  and  to  cheer  and  enliven 
him  daily  for  a  few  hours  after  dinner, 
with  merry,  witty  conversation,  that  his 
liver  might  be  kept  in  motion,  and  his 
digestion  improved." 

"  Just  think  of  this  tender  Hollander, 
this  disinterested  father,  who  selects  a 
husband  for  his  daughter  in  order  to 
improve  his  digestion  !  " 

"Did  you  not  see  j-our  bride  before 
the  wedding?  Perhaps  she  was  a 
changeling,  whom  the  father  wished  to 
get  rid  of  in  some  respectable  manner, 
and  therefore  gave  her  to  you." 

"  I  saw  my  bride,  sire,  and  indeed 
Esther  was  a  lovely  girl,  who  had  but 
one  fault — she  did  not  love  me.  She 
had  the  naivete  to  tell  me  so,  and  in- 
deed to  confess  that  she  ardently  loved 
another,  a  poor  clerk  of  her  father's 
who,  when  their  love  was  discovered,  a 
shoi-t  time  before,  had  been  turned  out 
of  the  house.  They  loved  each  other 
not  the  less  glowingly  for  all  this.  I 
shrugged  my  shoulders,  and  recalled 
the  wish  of  her  father,  and  my  promise 
to  him.  But  when  the  little  Esther  im- 
plored me  to  refuse  her  hand,  and 
plead  with  her  father  for  her  beloved,  I 
.aughed  and  jested  no  longer,  but  be- 
gan to  look  at  the  thing  gravely.  I 
did  go  to  her  father,  and  informed  him 
of  all  that  had  passed.    He  listened  to 


me  quietly,  and  then  asked  me,  ivith  a 
fearful  grimace,  if  I  preferred  prison 
fare  to  truffle-pie,  every  day,  at  my 
own  table.  You  can  imagine  that  I 
did  not  hesitate  in  my  choice. 

"  '  Well,  then  '  said  my  good  Swiet, 
'  if  you  do  not  wed  my  daughter,  I  will 
Tvithdraw  my  protecting  hand  from 
you,  and  your  enemies  will  find  a  means 
to  cast  you  into  prison.  A  new  book, 
"  L'llomme  Machine"  has  just  appeared, 
and  every  man  swears  it  is  your  pro- 
duction, though  your  name  is  not  af- 
fixed to  the  title-page.  The  whole 
city,  not  only  the  priests  but  the  world- 
lings, are  enraged  over  this  book. 
They  declare  it  is  a  monster  of  unbelief 
and  materialism.  If,  in  spite  of  all  this, 
I  accept  you  as  my  son-in-law,  it  is  be- 
cause I  wish  to  show  the  world  that  I 
despise  it,  and  am  not  in  the  slightest 
degree  influenced  by  its  prejudices  and 
opinions,  but  am  a  bold,  independent 
freethinker.  Decide,  then !  Will  you 
marry  my  daughter  and  eat  truSle-pie 
daily,  or  will  you  be  cast  into  pris- 
on?' 

"  '  I  will  marry  your  daughter !  I 
swear  that  in  eight  days  she  shall  be 
my  wife  ! ' 

"Hen  van  Swiet  embraced  me 
warmly,  and  commenced  his  prepara- 
tions for  the  wedding  immediately, 
Esther,  however,  my  bride,  never  spoke 
to  me ;  never  seemed  to  see  me.  Her 
eyes  were  swollen,  and  she  was  half- 
blind  from  weeping.  Once  we  met 
alone  in  the  saloon.  She  hastened  to 
leave  it ;  but,  as  she  passed  by  me,  she 
raised  her  arms  to  heaven,  then  ex- 
tended them  threateningly  toward  me. 
'  You  are  a  cruel  and  bad  man.  You 
will  sacrifice  a  human  soul  to  your  greed 
and  your  irresistiljle  and  inordinate  de- 
sires !  If  God  is  just  you  will  die  of  a 
truffle-pie  !  I  say  not  that  you  will 
yield  up  your  spirit,  for  you  have  none  I 
You  will,  you  must  die  like  a  beast — 
from  beastly  gluttony ! ' " 


^46 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


"  The  maiden  possessed  the  wisdom 
pf  a  sibyl,"  s:iid  the  king,  "  and  I  fear 
rfie  has  prophesied  correctly  as  to  your 
sad  future.  Hate  has  sometimes  the 
gift  of  prophecy,  and  sees  the  future 
clearly,  while  Love  is  blind.  It  ap- 
pears to  me  your  Esther  did  not  suffer 
from  the  passion  of  love." 

"No,  sire,  she  hated  me.  But  her 
lover,  the  young  Mieritz,  did  not  share 
this  dislike.  He  seemed  warmly  at- 
tached to  me;  was  my  inseparable 
companion ;  embraced  me  with  tears, 
and  forgave  me  for  robbing  him  of  his 
beloved,  declaring  that  I  was  more 
worthy  of  her  than  himself.  He  went 
BO  far  in  his  manifestations  of  friend- 
ship as  to  invite  me  to  breakfast  on  the 
morning  of  my  wedding-day,  at  which 
time  he  wished  to  present  me  with 
something  sumptuous  he  had  brought 
from  Amsterdam.  I  accepted  the  in- 
vitation, and  as  the  wedding  ceremony 
was  to  take  place  at  twelve  o'clock,  in 
the  cathedral,  we  were  compelled  to 
breakfast  at  eleven.  I  w^as  content.  I 
thought  I  could  better  support  the 
wearisome  ceremony  if  sustained  by  the 
fond  remembrance  of  the  luxurious 
meal  I  had  just  enjoyed.  Our  break- 
fast began  punctually  at  eleven,  and  I 
assure  your  majesty  it  was  a  rare  and 
costly  feast.  My  young  friend  Mie- 
ritz declared,  however,  that  the  dish 
which  crowned  the  feast,  was  yet  to 
come.  At  last  he  stepped  to  the 
kitchen  himself  to  bring  this  jewel  of 
his  breakfast.  With  a  mysterious 
smile  he  quickly  returned,  bringing 
upon  a  silver  dish  a  smoking  pie.  A 
delicious  fragrance  immediately  per- 
vaded the  whole  room — a  fragrance 
which  then  recalled  the  hour  most  rich 
in  blessing  of  my  whole  life.  Beside 
myself— filled  with  prophetic  expecta- 
tion— I  rushed  forward  and  raised  the 
top  crust  of  the  jjie.  Yes,  it  was  there  ! 
— it  met  my  ravished  gaze  1 — the  pie 
which  I  had  only  eaten  once,  at   the 


table  of  the  Duke  de  Grammont  I 
Alas !  I  lost  the  good  duke  at  the  bat- 
tle of  Fontenoy,  and  the  great  mystery 
of  this  pasty  went  down  with  him  into 
the  hero's  grave.  And  now  that  it  was 
exhumed,  it  surrounded  me  with  its 
costly  aroma ;  it  smiled  upon  me  with 
glistening  lips  and  voluptuous  eyes.  I 
snatched  the  dish  from  the  hands  of  my 
friend,  and  placed  it  before  me  on  the 
table.  At  this  moment  the  clock  struck 
twelve, 

" '  Miserable  wretch ! '  I  cried,  '  you 
bring  me  this  i)ie,  and  this  is  the  hour 
of  my  marriage  ! ' 

"  •  Well,'  said  Mieritz,  with  the  cool 
phlegm  of  a  Hollander,  '  let  us  go  first 
to  the  wedding,  and  then  this  pasty  can 
be  warmed  up.' 

" '  Warmed  up  ! '  roared  I ;  '  warm  up 
this  pie,  whose  delicious  odor  has  al- 
ready brought  my  nose  into  its  magic 
circle !  Can  you  believe  I  would  out- 
live such  a  vandalism,  that  I  would 
consent  to  such  sacrilege  ?  To  warm  a 
pie  1 — it  is  to  rob  the  blossom  of  its 
fragrance,  the  butterfly  of  the  purple 
and  the  azure  of  its  wings,  beauty  of 
its  innocence,  the  golden  day  of  its 
glory.  No,  I  will  never  be  guilty  of 
such  deadly  crime !  This  pie  thirsts  to 
be  eaten !     I  will,  therefore,  eat  it ! ' 

"  I  ate  it,  sire,  and  it  overpowered 
nie  with  heavenly  rapture.  I  was  like 
the  opium-eater,  wrapped  in  elysium, 
carried  into  the  heaven  of  heavens. 
All  the  wonders  of  creation  were  com- 
bined in  this  heavenly  food,  which  I 
thrust  into  my  mouth  devoutly,  and 
trembling  with  gladness.  It  was  not 
necessary  for  Mieritz  to  tell  me  that 
this  pie  was  made  of  Indian  birds'-nests, 
and  truffles  from  Perigord.  I  knew  it, 
I  felt  it  I  This  wonder  of  India  had 
unveiled  my  enraptured  eyes  !  A  new 
world  was  opened  before  me !  I  ate, 
and  I  was  blessed  ! 

"  What  was  it  to  me  that  messengei 
after  messenger  came  to  summon  me. 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AXD   HIS  FRIENDS. 


247 


to  inform  me  that  the  priest  stood  be- 
fore the  altar;  that  my  young  bride 
and  her  father  and  a  crowd  of  rela- 
tions awaited  me  with  impatience  ?  I 
cried  back  to  them :  '  Go !  be  off  with 
you!  Let  them  wait  till  the  judg- 
ment-day !  I  will  not  rise  from  this  seat 
till  this  dish  is  empty  ! '  I  ate  on, 
and,  while  eating,  my  intellect  was 
clearer,  sharper,  more  profound  than 
ever  before  !  I  rejoiced  over  this  con- 
viction. Was  it  not  a  conclusive  proof 
that  my  theory  was  correct,  that  this 
'■Tiomme  machine''  received  its  intellect- 
ual fluid,  its  power  of  thought  through 
itself,  and  not  through  this  fabulous, 
bodiless  something  which  metaphysi- 
cians call  soul  ?  Was  not  this  a  proof 
that,  to  possess  a  noble  soul,  it  was 
only  necessary  to  give  to  the  body 
noble  nourishment?  And  where  lies 
this  boasted  soul?  where  else  but  in 
the  stomach  ?  The  stomach  is  the  soul. 
I  allow  it  is  the  brain  that  thinks,  but 
the  brain  dares  only  think  as  his  ex- 
alted majesty  the  stomach  allows ;  and 
if  his  royal  highness  feels  unwell,  fare- 
well to  thought."  * 

The  whole  company  burst  out  in  loud 
and  hearty  laughter. 

'*  Am  I  not  right  to  call  you  a  fou 
fieffe  ?  "  said  the  king.  "  There  is  an 
old  proverb,  which  says  of  a  coward, 
that  his  heart  lies  in  his  stomach ; 
never  before  have  I  heard  the  soul 
banished  there.  But  your  hymns  of 
praise  over  the  stomach  and  the  pie 
have  made  you  forget  to  finish  your 
story;  let  us  hear  the  conclusion !  Did 
the  marriage  take  place  ?  " 

"  Sire,  I  had  not  quite  finished  my 
breakfast  when  the  door  was  violently 
opened,  and  a  servant  rushed  in  and 
•announced  that  the  good  Yan  Swiet 
had  had  a  stroke  of  apoplexy  in  the 
cathedral.  The  foolish  man  declared 
that  rage  and  indignation  over  my  con- 

•  La  Mettrie's  own  words. 


duct  had  produced  this  fearful  result  • 
I  am,  myself,  however,  convinced  thai 
it  was  the  consequence  of  a  good  rich 
breakfast  and  a  bottle  of  Madeira  wine ; 
this  disturbed  the  circulation  of  the 
blood,  and  he  was  chilled  by  standing 
upon  the  cold  stone  floor  of  the 
church.  Be  that  as  it  may,  poor  Swiet 
was  carried  unconscious  from  the 
church  to  his  dwelling,  and  in  a  few 
hours  he  was  dead !  Esther,  his  daugh- 
ter and  heir,  was  unfilial  enough  to 
leave  the  wish  of  her  father  unfulfilled. 
She  would  not  acknowledge  our  contract 
to  be  binding,  declared  herself  the  bride 
of  the  little  Mieritz,  and  married  him 
in  a  few  months.  I  had,  indeed,  a 
legal  claim  upon  her,  but  Swiet  was 
right  when  he  assured  me  that  so  soon 
as  he  withdrew  his  protection  from  me, 
the  whole  pack  of  fanatical  priests  and 
weak-minded  scholars  would  fall  upon 
and  tear  me  to  pieces,  unless  I  saved 
myself  by  flight.  So  I  obeyed  your 
majesty's  summons,  took  my  pilgrim- 
staff,  and  wandered  on,  like  Ahasuerus.'* 

"  What  !  without  taking  vengeance 
on  the  crafty  Mieritz,  who,  it  is  evi- 
dent, had  carried  out  successfully  a 
well-considered  strategy  with  his  pie  ?  " 
said  the  king.  "  You  must  know  that 
was  all  arranged :  he  caught  you  with 
his  pie,  as  men  catch  mice  with  cheese." 

"  Even  if  I  knew  that  to  be  so,  your 
majesty,  I  should  not  quarrel  with  him 
on  that  account.  I  should  have  only 
said  to  my  pie,  as  Holofernes  said  to 
Judith :  '  Thy  sin  was  a  great  enjoy- 
ment, I  forgive  you  for  slaying  me  !  ' 
For  such  a  pie  I  would  again  sacrifice 
another  bride  and  another  fortune !  " 

"  And  is  there  no  possible  means  to 
obtain  it  ? "  said  the  king.  "  Can  you 
not  obtain  the  receipt  for  this  wonder- 
ful dish,  which  possesses  the  magic 
power  to  liberate  young  women  from 
intolerable  men,  and  change  a  miser  into 
a  spendthrift  who  thrusts  his  whole 
fortune  down  his  throat  ?  " 


248 


BERLIA    AND   SANS-&OUCI ;    OR, 


"  Thesre  is  a  prospect,  sire,  of  securing 
it,  but  you  cannot  be  the  first  to  profit 
by  it.  Lord  Tyrconnel,  who  knows  my 
history,  opened  a  diplomatic  corre- 
spondence with  Holland,  some  weeks 
ago,  on  this  subject,  and  the  success  of 
an  important  .oan  which  France  wishes 
to  effect  with  the  house  of  Mieritz  and 
Bwiet,  through  the  mediation  of  Lord 
Tyrconnel,  hangs  uiDon  the  obtaining 
of  this  receipt.  If  Mieritz  refuses  it, 
France  will  not  make  the  loan.  In  that 
case  the  war,  which  now  seems  probable 
with  England,  will  not  take  place," 

"  And  yet  it  is  said  that  great  events 
can  only  arise  from  great  causes,"  cried 
the  king.  "  The  peace  of  the  world 
now  hangs  upon  the  receipt  of  a  truffle- 
pie,  which  La  Mettrie  wishes  to  ob- 
tain." 

"  What  is  the  peace  of  the  world  in 
comparison  with  the  peace  of  our  souls  ? " 
cried  Voltaire.  "  La  Mettrie  may  say 
what  he  wall,  and  the  worthy  Abbg 
Bastiani  may  be  wholly  silent,  but  I  be- 
lieve I  have  a  soul,  which  docs  not  lie 
in  my  stomach,  and  this  soul  of  mine 
will  never  be  satisfied  till  your  majesty 
keeps  your  promise,  and  relates  one  of 
those  intellectual,  piquant  histories, 
glowing  with  wisdom  and  poesy,  which 
80  often  flows  from  the  lips  of  our  Solo- 
mon !  " 

"  It  is  true  it  is  now  my  turn  to  speak," 
said  Frederick,  smiling.  "  I  will  be 
brief.  Not  only  the  lights,  but  also  the 
eyes  of  Algarotti,  are  burning  dimly  ; 
and  look  how  the  good  marquis  is,  in 
thought,  making  love-winks  toward  his 
nightcap,  which  lies  waiting  for  him 
upon  his  bed !  But  be  comforted, 
gentlemen,  my  story  is  short.  Like  La 
Mettrie,  I  will  relate  a  miracle,  in  which, 
however  the  eyes  were  profited,  the 
stomach  had  no  interest.  This  miracle 
took  place  in  Breslau,  in  the  year  1747. 

"  Cardinal  Zinzendorf  was  just  dead, 
and  the  Duke  Schafgotch,  who  some 
yeai's  before  I  had  appointed  his  coad- 


jutor, was  to  be  his  successor.  But  the 
Silesians  were  not  content.  They  de- 
clared that  Duke  Schafgotch  was  too 
fond  of  the  joys  and  pleasures  of  the 
world  to  be  a  good  priest ;  that  he 
thought  too  much  of  the  beautiful  wo- 
men of  this  world  to  be  able  to  offer  to 
the  holy  Madonna,  the  mother  of  God, 
the  sanctified,  ardent,  but  pure  and 
modest  love  of  a  true  son  of  the  Church. 
The  pious  Silesians  refused  to  believe 
that  the  duke  was  sufficiently  holy  to 
be  their  bishop.  The  sage  fathers  of 
the  city  of  Breslau  assured  me  that 
nothing  less  than  a  miracle  could  secure 
for  him  the  love  and  consideration  of 
the  Silesians.  I  had  myself  gone  to 
Silesia  to  see  if  the  statement  of  the 
authorities  was  well  founded,  and  if  the 
people  were  really  so  discontented  with 
the  new  bishop.  I  found  their  state- 
ment fully  confirmed.  Only  a  great 
miracle  could  incline  the  pious  hearts 
of  the  Silesians  to  the  duke. 

"  And  now  remark,  messieurs,  bow 
Providence  is  always  with  the  pious  and 
the  just — this  desired  miracle  too?c  place ! 
On  a  lovely  morning  a  rumor  was  spread 
abroad,  in  the  city  of  Breslau,  that  in 
the  chapel  of  the  Holy  Mother  of  God  a 
miracle  might  be  seen.  All  Breslau — 
the  loveliest  ladies  of  the  haute  voUe, 
and  the  poorest  beggars  of  the  street — 
rushed  to  the  church  to  look  upon  this 
miracle.  Yes,  it  was  undeniable  !  The 
hair  of  the  Madonna,  which  stood  in 
enticing  but  wooden  beauty  upon  the 
altar,  whose  clothing  was  furnished  by 
the  first  modistes,  and  whose  hair  by 
the  ^vst  perruquier — this  hair,  wonder- 
ful to  relate,  had  grown  !  It  was  nat- 
ural that  she  should  exercise  super- 
natural power.  The  blind,  the  lame, 
the  crippled,  were  cured  by  her  touch. 
I  myself — for  you  may  well  think  that 
I  hastened  to  see  tlie  miracle — saw  a 
lame  man  throw  away  his  crutch  and 
dance  a  minuet  in  honor  of  the  Madonna. 
There  was  a  blind  man  who  approached 


FREDER/CK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIEXBS. 


249 


with  a  broad  band  bound  over  his  eyes. 
He  was  led  forward  to  this  wonderful 
hair.  Scarcely  had  the  lovely  locks 
touched  his  face,  than  he  tore  the  band 
from  his  eyes,  and  shouted  with  ecstasy 
— ^his  sight  was  restored  !  Thousands, 
who  were  upon  their  knees  praying  in 
wrapt  devotion,  shouted  in  concert  with 
him,  and  here  and  there  inspired  voices 
called  out :  '  The  holy  IVIadonna  is  con- 
tent with  her  new  servant  the  bishop  ! 
if  she  were  not,  she  would  not  perform 
these  miracles.'  These  voices  fell  like 
a  match  in  this  magazine  of  excitement. 
Men  we2)t  and  embraced  each  other,  and 
thanked  God  for  the  new  bishop,  whom 
yesterday  they  had  refused. 

"In  the  mean  time,  however,  there 
were  still  some  suspicious,  distrustful 
souls  who  would  not  admit  that  the 
growth  of  the  Madonna's  hair  was  a 
testimony  in  favor  of  the  bishop.  But 
these  stiif-necked  unbelievers,  these 
heartless  skeptics,  were  at  last  convinced. 
Two  days  later  this  lovely  hair  had 
grown  perceptibly;  and,  still  two  days 
later,  it  hung  in  luxurious  length  and 
fulness  over  her  shoulders.  ISIo  one 
could  longer  doubt  that  the  Holy  Virgin 
was  pi  eased  with  her  priest.  It  had  ofben 
happened  that  hair  had  turned  gray,  or 
been  torn  out  by  the  roots  in  rage  and 
scorn.  No  one,  however,  can  maintain 
that  the  hair  grows  unless  we  are  in  a 
happy  and  contented  mood.  The  Ma- 
donna, therefore,  was  pleased.  The 
wondrous  growth  of  her  hair  enraptured 
the  faithful,  and  all  mankind  declared 
that  this  holy  image,  cut  from  a  pear- 
tree,  was  the  Virgin  Mary,  who  with 
open  eyes  watched  over  Breslau,  and 
whose  hair  grew  in  honor  of  the  new 
Bishop  Schafgotch— hewasnow  almost 
adored.  Thousands  of  the  believers 
surrounded  his  palace  and  besought  his 
blessing.  It  was  a  beautiful  picture  of 
a  shepherd  and  bis  flock.  The  Madonna 
no  longer  found  it  necessary  to  make  her 
aair  grow  ;  one  miracle  had  sufficed,  and 


with  the  full  growth  of  her  hair  the  arch- 
bishop had  also  grown  into  importance." 

"  But  your  majesty  has  not  yet  named 
the  holy  saint  at  whose  intercession  this 
miracle  was  performed,"  said  the  Mar- 
quis d'Argens.  "Graciously  disclose 
the  name,  that  we  may  pray  fo'  pardon 
and  blessing." 

"  This  holy  saint  was  Cj  /mcwr," 
said  the  king,  laughing.  "  I  made  him 
swear  that  he  would  never  betray  my 
secret.  Every  thfrd  day,  in  the  twi- 
light, he  stole  secretly  to  the  church, 
and  placed  a  new  wig  upon  the  Ma- 
donna, and  withdrew  the  old  one.* 
You  see,  messieurs,  that  not  only  hap- 
piness but  piety  may  hang  on  a  hair, 
and  those  holy  saints  to  whom  the 
faithful  pray  were,  without  doubt,  adroit 
perruquiers  who  underetand  their  cue." 

"  And  who  use  it  as  a  scourge  upon 
the  backs  of  the  pious  penitents,"  said 
Voltaire.  "  Ah,  sire  !  your  story  is  as 
wise  as  it  is  piquant — it  is  another 
proof  that  you  are  a  warrior.  You  have 
won  a  spiritual  battle  with  your  mi- 
raculous wig,  a  battle  against  holy 
Mother  Church." 

"  By  which,  happily,  no  soldiers  and 
only  a  few  wigs  were  left  behind.  But 
see  how  grave  and  mute  our  very 
worthy  abb6  appears — I  believe  he  is 
envious  of  the  miracle  I  performed  1 
and  now  it  is  your  turn,  Bastiani ;  give 
us  your  story — a  history  of  some  of  the 
lovely  Magdalens  you  have  encoun- 
tered." 

''  Ah,  sire  !  will  not  your  majesty  ex- 
cuse me  ?  "  said  the  abb6,  bowing  low. 
"  3Iy  life  has  been  the  still,  quiet,  lonely, 
unostentatious  life  of  a  priest,  and  only 
the  ever-blessed  King  Frederick  WU- 
liam  introduced  storm  and  tempest 
into  its  even  course.  That  was,  with- 
out doubt,  God's  will ;  otherwise  this  lo- 
bust  and  giant  form  which  He  gave  me 
would  have  been  in  vain.    My  height 


*  Authentic  addition  to  the  '•  History  of  Fred* 
erick  the  Second." 


250 


BERLIN   AND   SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


and  strength  so  enraptured  the  emissa- 
ries of  the  king,  that  in  the  middle  of 
the  service  before  the  altar,  as  I  was 
reading  mass,  they  tore  me  away  with- 
out regarding  the  prayers  and  outcries 
of  my  flock.  I  was  violently  borne  off 
and  immediately  enrolled  as  a  soldier."  * 

"  A  wonderful  idea  !  "  cried  Voltaire, 
"  to  carry  off  a  priest  in  his  vestments 
and  make  a  soldier  of  him ;  but  say, 
now,  abb6,  could  you  not,  at  least,  have 
taken  your  housekeeper  with  you  ?  I 
dare  say  she  was  young  and  pretty." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Bastiani ;  "  I 
am,  as  you  know,  very  short-sighted, 
and  I  never  looked  upon  her  face ;  but 
it  was  a  great  misfortune  for  a  priest  to 
be  torn  from  the  Tyrolese  mountains  and 
changed  into  a  soldier.  But  now,  I  look 
upon  this  as  my  greatest  good  fortune ; 
by  this  means  were  the  eyes  of  my  ex- 
alted king  fixed  upon  me;  he  was  gra- 
cious, and  honored  me  with  his  conde- 
scending friendship." 

"You  forget  there  is  no  king  heie, 
and  that  here  no  man  must  be  flut- 
tered," said  Frederick,  frowning. 

"  Sire,  I  know  there  is  no  king  pres- 
ent, and  that  proves  I  am  no  flatterer. 
I  speak  of  my  love  and  admiration 
to  my  king,  but  not  to  his  face.  I 
praise  and  exalt  him  behind  his  back ; 
that  shows  that  I  love  him  dearly,  not 
for  honor  or  favor,  but  out  of  a  pure 
heart  fervently." 

"  What  happiness  for  your  pure  and 
unselfish  heart,  that  your  place  of  can- 
onry  of  Breslau  brings  in  three  thou- 
sand thalers  1  otherwise  your  love, 
which  docs  not  understand  flattery, 
might  leave  you  in  the  lurch ;  you 
might  be  hungry." 

"  He  that  eats  of  the  bread  of  the  Lord 
shall  never  hunger,"  said  Bastiani,  in  a 
low  and  solemn  voice ;  ''  he  that  will 
serve  two  masters  will  be  faithful  to 
neither,  and  may  fear  to  be  hungry." 


*  ThiAbault. 


"  Ob,  oh !  look  at  oiir  pious  abb^ 
who  throws  off  his  sheep's  skin  and 
turns  the  rough  side  out,"  cried  Vol- 
taire. "  It  is  written,  '  The  sheep  shall 
be  turned  into  wolves,'  and  you,  dear 
abb6,  in  your  piety  fulfil  this  proph- 
ecy. Your  witty  allusions  are  meant  for 
me  because  I  am  tlie  historian  of  the 
King  of  France,  and  gentleman  of  the 
bedchamber  to  the  King  of  Prussia, 
Compose  yoursel£  As  historian  to  the 
King  of  France,  I  have  no  pension,  and 
his  majesty  of  Prussia  will  tell  you  that 
I  am  the  most  useless  of  servants  that 
the  sun  of  royal  favor  ever  shone  upon. 
Yes,  truly,  I  am  a  poor,  modest,  trifling, 
good-for-nothing  creature ;  and  if  his 
majesty  did  not  allow  me,  from  time 
to  time,  to  read  his  verses  and  re- 
joice in  their  beauty,  and  here  and 
there  to  add  a  comma,  I  should  be 
as  useless  a  being  as  that  Catholif! 
priest  stationed  at  Dresden,  at  the  court 
of  King  Augustus,  who  has  nothing  to 
do — no  man  or  woman  to  confess — 
there,  as  here,  every  man  being  a  Lu- 
theran. Algarotti  told  me  he  asked  hi m 
once  how  he  occupied  himself.  The 
worthy  abb§  answered  :  '  lo  sono  il  cat- 
tolica  disua  maestd.''  So  I  will  call  my- 
self, 'iZ  pedagogue  di  sua  maestd.''  *  Like 
yourself,  I  serve  but  one  master." 

"  Alas !  I  fear  my  cuttoUca  will  not 
linger  long  by  me,"  said  the  king.  ''  A 
man  of  his  talent  and  worth  cannot 
content  himself  with  being  canon  of 
Breslau.  No,  Bastiani,  yon  will,  with- 
out doubt,  rise  higher.  You  will  be- 
come a  prelate,  an  eminence  ;  yes,  you 
will,  perhaps,  wear  the  tiara.  But  what 
shall  I  be  when  you  have  mounted  this 
glittering  pinnacle — when  you  have  be- 
come pope?  I  wager  you  will  deny 
me  your  apostolic  blessing ;  that  you 
will  not  even  allow  me  to  kneel  and 
kiss  your  slipper.  If  any  man  should 
dare  to  name  me  to  you,  you  would  nc 

♦  "(Euvres  Complfetef  Je  Voltaire,"  p.  3T6, 


i^'REDERICK   THE   GREAT  AND   mS  TEIENDS. 


251 


longer  remember  this  unselfish  love, 
which,  -without  doubt,  you  feel  passion- 
ately for  me  at  this  moment.  Ah !  I 
see  you  now  rising  from  St.  Peter's 
chair  with  apostolic  sublimity,  and  ex- 
claiming with  praiseworthy  indigna- 
tion :  '  How  !  this  heretic,  this  unclean, 
this  savage  from  hell !  I  curse  him.  I 
condemn  him.  Let  no  man  dare  even 
to  name  him.' " 

"  Grace,  grace,  sire !  "  cried  the  abb6, 
holding  his  hands  humbly,  and  looking 
up  at  the  king. 

The  other  gentlemen  laughed  hear- 
tily. The  king  was  inexorable.  The 
specious  holiness  and  hypocrisy  which 
the  aljbg  had  brought  upon  the  stage 
incensed  him,  and  he  was  resolved  to 
punish  it. 

"Now,  if  you  were  pope,  and  I  am 
convinced  you  will  be,  I  should,  without 
doubt,  go  to  Rome.  It  is  very  impor- 
tant for  me  to  ascertain,  while  I  have 
you  here,  what  sort  of  a  reception  you 
would  accord  me?  So,  let  us  hear. 
When  I  appear  before  your  holiness, 
what  will  you  say  to  me  ?  " 

The  abb6,  who  had  been  sitting 
with  downcast  eyes,  and  murmuring 
from  time  to  time  in  pleading  tones, 
"Ah,  sire  !  ah,  sire  1"  now  looked  up, 
and  a  flashing  glance  fell  upon  the 
handsome  face  of  the  king,  now  gh)w- 
ing  with  mirth. 

"  Well  if "  repeated  the  king,  "  what 
would  you  say  to  me  ? " 

"  Sire,"  said  Bastiani,  bowing  rever- 
ently, "  I  would  say,  '  Almighty  eagle, 
cover  me  with  your  wings,  and  protect 
me  from  your  own  beak.'  "  * 

"That  is  an  answer  worthy  of  your 
mtellect,"  said  the  king,  smiling,  "  and 
m  consideration  of  it  I  will  excuse  you 
from  relating  some  little  history  of  your 
life. — Now,  Duke  Algarotti,  your  time 
has  come.  You  are  the  last,  and  no  doubt 
you  will  conclude  the  evening  worthily." 

•  Baetianl's  own  words.— See  Thlebanlt,  p.  43. 


"Sire,  my  case  is  similar  to  Bastiani'i 
There  has  been  no  mystery  in  my  life; 
only  that  which  seemed  miraculous  foi 
a  priest  was  entirely  natural  and  simple 
in  my  case.  I  have  travelled  a  great 
deal,  have  seen  the  world,  known  men ; 
and  all  my  experience  and  the  feelings 
and  convictions  of  my  heart  have  at 
last  laid  me  at  the  feet  of  your  majesty. 
I  am  like  the  faithful,  who,  having  been 
healed  by  a  miracle,  hang  a  copy  of  the 
diseased  member  upon  the  miraculous 
image  which  cured  them.  My  heart 
was  sick  of  the  world  and  of  men ;  your 
majesty  healed  it,  and  I  lay  it  thank- 
fully and  humbly  at  your  feet.  This  is 
my  whole  history,  and  truly  it  is  a  won- 
derful one.  I  have  found  a  manly  king 
and  a  kingly  man."  * 

"  Truly  such  a  king  is  the  wonder  of 
the  world,"  said  Voltaire.  "A  king 
who,  being  a  king,  is  still  a  man,  and 
being  a  man  is  still  a  noble  king.  I  be- 
lieve the  history  of  the  world  gives  few 
such  examples.  If  we  search  the  rec- 
ords of  all  people,  we  will  find  that  all 
their  kings  have  committed  many  crimes 
and  foUies,  and  but  few  great,  magnani- 
mous deeds.  No,  no !  let  us  never 
hope  to  civilize  kings.  In  vain  have 
men  sought  to  soften  them  by  the  help 
of  art ;  in  vain  taught  them  to  love  it 
and  to  cultivate  it.  They  are  always 
lions,  who  seemed  to  be  tamed  when 
perpetually  flattered.  They  remain,  in 
truth,  always  wild,  bloodthirsty,  and 
fantastic.  In  the  moment  Avhen  you 
least  expect  it,  the  instinct  awakens, 
and  we  fall  a  sacrifice  to  their  claws  or 
their  teeth"! 

The  king,  who,  up  to  this  time,  had 
listened,  with  a  smiling  face,  to  the  pas- 
sionate and  bitter  si^eech  of  Voltaire, 
now  rose  from  his  seat,  and,  pointing 
his  finger  threateningly  at  him,  said, 
good-humoredly :  "Still,  still,  mon- 
sieur !     Beware !     I  believe  the  king 

♦Algarottl's  own  words.  t  Thi6bault. 


252 


BERLIN    4.ND  SANS-SOTJCI ;    OR, 


comes !  Lower  your  voice,  Voltaire,  that 
he  may  not  hear.  If  he  heard  you,  he 
might  consider  it  his  duty  to  be  even 
worse  than  yourself.  *  Besides,  it  is 
late.  Let  us  not  await  the  coming  of 
*he  king,  but  withdraw  very  quietly. 
Good-night,  messieurs." 

With  a  gracious  but  proud  nod  of 
his  head,  he  greeted  the  company  and 
withdrew. 


CHAPTER   V. 

ROME     SAU  V  fiE. 

The  whole  court  was  in  a  state  of 
wild  excitement.  A  rare  spectacle 
■was  preparing  for  them — something 
unheard  of  in  the  annals  of  the  Berlin- 
ers.  Voltaire's  new  drama  of  "  Catiline," 
to  which  he  had  now  given  the  name 
of  "  Rome  Saved,"  was  to  be  played  in 
the  roj'al  palace,  in  a  private  theatre, 
gotten  up  for  the  occasion,  and  the  act- 
ors and  actresses  were  to  be  no  common 
artistes^  but  selected  from  the  highest 
court  circles.  Princess  Amelia  had  the 
role  of  Aurelia,  Prince  Henry  of  Julius 
Cajsar,  and  Voltaire  of  Cicero. 

The  last  rehearsal  was  to  take  place 
early  that  morning.  Voltaire  had 
shown  himself  in  his  former  unbridled 
license,  his  biting  irony,  his  cutting 
sarcasm.  Not  an  actor  or  actress  es- 
caped his  censure  or  his  scorn.  The 
poor  i)oet  D'Arnaud  had  been  the  spe- 
cial subject  of  his  mocking  wit.  D'Ar- 
naud had  once  been  Voltaire's  favorite 
scholar,  and  he  had  commended  him 
highly  to  the  king.  He  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  please  Frederick,  who  had 
addressed  to  him  a  flattering  poem. 
For  this  reason  Voltaire  hated  him, 
and  sought  continually  to  deprive  him 
of  Frederick's  favor  and  get  him  ban- 
ished from  court. 


♦  The  kin^r  r  own  y  jrds. 


This  morning,  for  the  first  time,  there 
was  open  strife  between  them,  and  the 
part  which  D'Arnaud  had  to  play  in 
"  Rome  Sauvee  "  gave  occasion  for  the 
difficulty.  D'Arnaud,  it  is  true,  had 
but  two  words  to  say,  but  his  enuncia- 
tion did  not  please  Voltaire.  He  de- 
clared that  D'Arnaud  uttered  them  in- 
tentionally and  maliciously  with  cold- 
ness and  indifierence. 

D'Arnaud  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
said  a  speech  of  two  words  did  not  admit 
of  power  or  action.  He  asked  what 
declamation  could  possibly  do  for  two 
insignificant  words,  but  make  them 
ridiculous. 

This  roused  Voltaire's  rage  to  the 
highest  pitch.  "  And  this  utterance  of 
two  words  is  then  beyond  your  ability? 
It  appears  you  cannot  speak  two  words 
with  proper  emphasis !  "  * 

And  now,  with  fiery  eloquence,  he 
began  to  show,  that  upon  these  words 
hung  the  merit  of  the  drama  ;  that  this 
speech  was  the  most  important  of  all ! 
With  jeers  and  sarcasm  he  drove  poor 
D'Arnaud  to  the  wall,  who,  breathless, 
raging,  choking,  could  find  no  w^ords 
nor  strength  to  reply.  He  was  dumb, 
cast  down,  humiliated. 

The  merry  laughter  of  the  king,  who 
greatly  enjoyed  the  scene,  and  the 
general  amusement,  increased  the  pain 
of  his  defeat,  and  made  the  triumph  of 
Voltaire  more  complete. 

At  last,  however,  the  parts  were  well 

*  In  a  letter  to  Madame  Denis,  Voltaire  wrote : 
"Tout  le  monde  me  reprocho  que  lo  roi  a  fait  des 
vers  pour  d'Arnaud,  des  VDrs  qui  ne  sent  pas  ce  qu'il 
a  fait  de  mieux ;  mais  socgcz  qu'a  quatre  cent  lieues 
de  Paris  11  est  bien  difficile  de  savoir  si  un  liomme 
qu'on  lui  recommande  a  du  m6rite  ou  non  ;  de  plus 
c'cst  toujours  des  vers,  et  bien  ou  mal  appliques  lis 
piouvent  que  le  vainqueur  de  I'Autriehe  aime  lo.' 
belles-lettres  que  j'aime  de  tout  mon  coeur.  D'ail 
leurs  D'Arnaud  estnn  bon  diable,  qui  pai--ci  par-U 
no  laisse  pas  de  rencontrer  dc  bons  tirades.  II  a  du 
gout,  il  se  forme,  et  s'il  aime  qu'il  se  deforme  il  n'y 
a  pas  grand  mal.  En  un  mot,  la  petite  meprise  du 
Eol  ,ie  Prusse  n'empeche  pas  qu'il  ne  soit  le  plu» 
Plngi  Her  dc  tou8  les  hommes."— Voyez  '*  (EuTrei 
Completes." 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


253 


earned,  and  even  Voltaire  was  content 
with  his  company.  This  evening  the 
entire  court  was  to  witness  the  perform- 
ance of  the  drama,  which  Yoltaire  called 
his  master-work. 

Princess  Amelia  had  the  role  of  Au- 
relia.  She  had  withdrawn  to  her  rooms, 
and  had  asked  permission  of  the  queen- 
mother  to  absent  herself  from  dinner. 
Her  part  was  difficult,  and  she  needed 
preparation  and  rest. 

But  the  princess  was  not  occupied 
with  her  role,  or  with  the  arranging  of 
her  toilet.  She  lay  stretched  upon  the 
divan,  and  gazed  with  tearful  eyes  upon 
the  letter  which  she  held  in  her  trem- 
bling hands.  Mademoiselle  von  Haak 
was  kneeling  near  her,  and  looking  up 
with  tender  sympathy  upon  the  prin- 
cess. 

"What  torture,  what  martyrdom  I 
suflFer  ! "  said  Amelia.  "  I  must  laugh 
while  my  heart  is  filled  with  despair ;  I 
must  take  part  in  the  pomps  and/ief«s 
of  this  riotous  court,  while  thick  dark- 
ness is  romid  about  me.  No  gleam  of 
light,  no  star  of  hope,  do  I  see.  Oh, 
Ernestine,  do  not  ask  me  to  be  calm  and 
ttilent !  Grant  me  at  least  the  relief  of 
giving  expression  to  my  sorrow." 

*'  Dear  princess,  why  do  you  nourish 
your  grief?  Why  will  you  tear  open 
the  wounds  of  your  heart  once  more  ? " 

"  Those  wounds  have  never  healed,'' 
cried  Amelia,  passionately.  "  No  !  they 
have  been  always  bleeding — always 
painful.  Do  you  think  so  pitifully  of 
me,  Ernestine,  as  to  believe  that  a  few 
years  have  been  sufficient  to  teach  me 
to  forget  ? " 

"  Am  I  not  also  called  upon  to  learn 
to  forget?"  cried  Ernestine,  bitterly. 
*'  Is  not  my  life's  happiness  destroyed  ? 
Am  I  not  eternally  separated  from  my 
beloved  ?  Alas !  princess,  you  are  much 
happier  than  I !  You  know  where,  at 
kast  in  thought,  you  can  find  your  un- 
happy friend.  Not  the  faintest  sound 
m  the  distance  gives  answer  to  my  wild 


questionings.  My  thoughts  are  wan- 
dering listlessly,  wearily.  They  know 
not  where  to  seek  my  lover — whether 
he  lies  in  the  dark  fortress,  or  in  the 
prison-house  of  the  grave." 

"It  is  true."  said  Amelia,  thought- 
fully; "our  fates  are  indeed  pitiable  1 
Oh.  Ernestine,  what  have  I  not  sufiered 
in  the  last  five  years,  during  which  I 
have  not  seen  Trenck  ? — five  years  of 
self-restraint,  of  silence,  of  desolation  ! 
How  often  have  I  believed  that  I  could 
not  support  my  secret  griefs — that  death 
must  come  to  my  relief  I  How  often, 
with  rouged  cheeks  and  laughing  lips, 
conversing  gayly  with  the  glittering 
court  circle  whose  centre  my  cruel 
brother  forced  me  to  be,  have  my  troub- 
led thoughts  wandered  far,  far  away  to 
my  darling ;  from  whom  the  winds 
brought  me  no  message,  the  stars  no 
greeting ;  and  yet  I  knew  that  he  lived, 
and  loved  me  still !  If  Trenck  were 
dead,  he  would  appear  to  me  in  spirit. 
Had  he  forgotten  me,  I  should  know  it ; 
the  knowledge  would  pierce  my  heart, 
and  I  should  die  that  instant.  I  know 
that  he  has  written  to  me,  and  that  all 
his  dear  letters  have  fallen  into  the  hands 
of  the  base  spies  with  which  my  brother 
has  surrounded  me.  But  I  am  not  mad : 
I  wiU  be  calm;  a  day  may  come  in 
which  Trenck  may  require  my  help.  I 
will  not  slay  myself;  some  day  I  may 
be  necessary  to  him  I  love.  1  have  long 
lived,  as  the  condemned  in  hell,  who, 
in  the  midst  of  burning  torture,  open 
both  eyes  and  ears  waiting  for  the  mo- 
ment when  the  blessed  Saviour  will 
come  for  their  release.  God  has  at  last 
been  merciful ;  He  has  blinded  the  eyes 
of  my  persecutors,  and  this  letter  came 
safely  to  my  hands.  Oh.  Ernestine, 
look  !  look !  a  letter  from  Trenck  1  He 
loves  me — he  has  not  forgotten  me — ^he 
calls  for  me !  Oh,  my  God  1  my  Grod  1 
why  has  fate  bound  me  so  inexorably  ? 
Why  was  I  born  to  a  throne,  whose 
splendor  has  not  lighted  my  path,  but 


254 


BERLIX   AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


cast  me  1j  the  shadow  of  death  ?  Why 
am  I  not  poor  and  obscure  ?  Then  I 
might  hasten  to  my  beloved  when  he 
calls  me.  I  might  stand  by  his  side  in 
his  misfortunes,  and  share  his  sorrows 
and  his  tears." 

"Dear  princess,  you  can  alleviate  his 
fate.  Look  at  me !  I  am  poor,  obscure, 
and  dependent,  and  yet  I  cannot  hasten 
to  ray  beloved ;  he  is  in  distress,  and 
yet  he  does  not  call  upon  me  for  relief 
He  knows  that  I  cannot  help  him.  You, 
princess,  thanks  to  your  rank,  have 
power  and  influence.  Trenck  calls  you, 
and  you  are  here  to  aid  and  comfort." 

"  God  grant  that  I  may !  Trenck 
implores  me  to  turn  to  my  brother,  and 
ask  him  to  interest  the  Prussian  embas- 
sy in  Vienna  in  his  favor ;  thereby  hop- 
ing to  put  an  end  to  the  process  by 
which  he  is  about  to  be  deprived  of 
his  only  inheritance — the  estate  left 
him  by  his  cousin,  the  captain  of  the 
pandours.  Alas !  can  I  speak  with  my 
brother  of  Trenck  ?  He  knows  not  that 
for  five  years  his  name  has  never  passed 
my  lips;  he  knows  not  that  I  have 
never  been  alone  with  my  brother  the 
king  for  one  moment  since  that  event- 
ful day  in  which  I  promised  to  give 
him  up  forever.  We  have  both  avoid- 
ed an  interview;  he,  because  he 
shrank  from  my  prayers  and  tears,  and 
I,  because  a  crust  of  ice  had  formed 
over  my  love  for  him,  and  I  would  not 
allow  it  to  melt  beneath  his  smiles  and 
kindly  words.  I  loved  Trenck  with 
my  whole  heart,  I  was  resolved  to  be 
faithful  to  him,  and  I  was  resentful  tow- 
ard my  brother.  Now,  Ernestine,  I 
must  overcome  myself,  I  must  speak 
with  the  king ;  Trenck  needs  my  ser- 
vices, and  I  will  have  courage  to  plead 
for  him." 

"  What  will  your  highness  ask  ? 
Think  well,  princess,  before  you  act. 
Who  knows  but  that  the  king  has  en- 
tirely forgotten  Trenck?  Perhaps  it 
were  best  so.     You  should  not  point 


out  to  the  angry  lion  the  insect  which 
has  awakened  him,  he  will  crush  it  in 
his  passion.  Trenck  is  in  want ;  send 
him  gold — gold  to  bribe  the  men  of 
law.  It  is  well  known  that  the  coun- 
sellors-at-law  are  dull-eyed  enough  to 
mistake  sometimes  the  glitter  of  gold 
for  the  glitter  of  the  sun  of  justice. 
Send  him  gold,  much  gold,  and  he  will 
tame  the  tigers  who  lie  round  about  the 
courts  of  justice,  and  he  will  win  his 
suit." 

Princess  Amelia  shrugged  her  shoul- 
ders contemptuously.  **  He  calls  upon 
me  for  help,  and  I  send  him  nothing 
but  empty  gold ;  he  asks  for  my  assist- 
ance, and  I  play  the  coward  and  hold  my 
peace.  No,  no  !  I  will  act,  and  I  will 
act  to-day !  You  know  that  only  after 
the  urgent  entreaty  of  the  king,  I  consen- 
ted to  appear  in  this  drama.  While  my 
brother  pleaded  with  me,  he  said,  with 
his  most  winning  smile,  '  Grant  me  this 
favor,  my  sister,  and  be  assured  that 
the  first  petition  you  make  of  me  I  will 
accord  cheerfully.'  Now,  then,  I  will 
remind  him  of  this  promise;  I  will 
plead  for  Trenck,  and  he  dare  not  re- 
fuse. Oh,  Ernestine !  I  know  not  sure- 
ly, but  it  ajjpears  to  me  that  for  some 
little  time  past  the  king  loves  me  more 
tenderly  than  heretofore ;  his  eye  rests 
upon  me  with  pleasure,  and  often  it 
seems  to  me  his  soft  glance  is  imphning 
my  love  in  return.  You  may  call  me 
childish,  foolish :  but  I  think,  some- 
times, that  my  silent  submission  has 
touched  his  heart,  and  he  is  at  last  dis- 
posed to  be  merciful,  and  allow  me  to 
be  happy — ^liappy,  in  permitting  me  to 
flee  from  the  vain  glory  of  a  court ;  m 
forgetting  that  I  am  a  princess,  and  in 
remembering  only  that  I  am  a  woman, 
to  whom  God  has  given  a  heart  caj^a- 
ble  of  love."  Amelia  did  not  see  the 
melancholy  gaze  with  which  her  friend 
regarded  her;  she  was  full  of  ardor 
and  enthusiasm,  and  with  sparkling 
eyes  and  throbbing  breast  she  sprang 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


255 


from  tlie  divan  and  cried  out,  "  Yes,  it 
is  so !  my  brother  will  make  me  hap- 


py 


1" 


"  Alas,  princess,  do  not  dare  to  rely 
upon  so  false  a  hope !  Never  will  the 
king  consent  that  you  shall  be  happy 
beneath  your  royal  rank  !  " 

"  Tell  me  now,  Ernestine,"  said  Ame- 
lia, with  a  smile,  "  is  not  the  reigning 
Margravine  of  Baireuth  as  high  in  rank 
as  I  am  ?  " 

"  Yes,  your  highness,"  said  Ernes- 
tine, with  surprise,  "  for  the  reigning 
Margravine  of  Baireuth  is  your  exalt- 
ed sister." 

"  I  do  not  speak  of  her,  but  of  the 
widow  of  the  former  margrave ;  she  has 
also  reigned.  Well,  she  has  just  mar- 
ried the  young  Duke  Hobitz.  The 
king  told  me  this  yesterday,  with  a 
merry  laugh.  The  little  Duchess  of 
Hobitz  is  his  aunt,  and  I  am  his  sis- 
ter! " 

"  If  the  king  had  had  power  to  con- 
trol his  aunt,  as  he  has  to  control  his 
sister,  he  would  not  have  allowed  this 
marriage." 

Amelia  heard,  but  she  did  not  be- 
lieve. With  hasty  steps  and  sparkling 
eyes  she  walked  backward  and  forward 
in  her  room ;  then,  after  a  long  pause, 
she  drew  near  her  friend,  and,  laying 
her  hands  upon  her  shoulders,  she  said : 
"  You  are  a  good  soul  and  a  faithful 
friend ;  you  have  ever  had  a  patient 
and  willing  ear  for  all  my  complaints. 
Only  think  now  how  charming  it  will 
be  when  I  come  to  tell  you  of  my  great 
happinessi  And  now,  Ernestine,  come, 
you  must  go  over  my  part  with  me 
once  more,  and  then  arrange  my  toilet. 
I  will  be  lovely  this  evening,  in  order  to 
please  the  king.  I  will  play  like  an 
artiste,  in  order  to  touch  his  cold  heart. 
If  I  act  my  part  with  such  truth  and 
burning  eloquence  that  he  is  forced  to 
weep  over  the  sorrows  of  the  wretched 
and  loving  woman  whom  I  represent, 
will  not  his  heart  be  softened,  will  he 


not  take  pity  upon  my  blasted  life? 
The  tragic  part  I  play  will  lend  me 
words  of  fire  to  depict  my  own  agony. 
Come,  then,  Ernestine,  come !  I  must 
act  well  my  tragedy — I  must  wdn  the 
heart  of  my  king ! " 

The  princess  kept  her  word;  she 
played  with  power  and  genius.  Words 
of  passion  and  of  pain  flowed  like  a 
stream  of  lava  from  her  lips ;  her  oaths 
of  faith  and  eternal  constancy,  her 
wild  entreaties,  her  resignation,  her 
despair,  were  not  the  high-flown,  pom- 
pous phrases  of  the  tragedian,  but  truth 
in  its  omnipotence.  It  was  living  pas- 
sion, it  was  breathing  agony;  and, 
with  fast-flowing  tears,  with  the  pallor 
of  death,  she  told  her  tale  of  love; 
and  in  that  vast  saloon,  glittering  with 
jewels,  filled  with  the  high-bom,  the 
brave,  the  beautiful,  nothing  was  heard 
but  long-drawn  sighs  and  choking 
sobs. 

Queen  Elizabeth  Christine  forgot  all 
etiquette  in  the  remembrance  of  her 
own  sad  fate  so  powerfully  recalled. 
She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands, 
and  bitter  tears  fell  over  her  slender 
fingers.  The  queen-mother,  surprised 
at  her  own  emotion,  whispered  lightly 
that  it  was  very  warm,  and  while  fan- 
ning herself  she  sought  to  dry  her  se- 
cret tears  unnoticed. 

Even  the  king  was  moved  ;  his  eyes 
were  misty,  and  indescribable  melan- 
choly played  upon  his  lips.  Voltaire 
was  wild  with  rapture ;  he  hung  upon 
every  movement,  every  glance  of  Ame- 
lia. Words  of  glowing  praise,  thanks, 
admiration,  flowed  from  his  lips.  He 
met  the  princess  behind  the  scenes,  and 
forgetting  all  else  he  cried  out,  with 
enthusiasm :  "  You  are  wortliy  to  be  an 
actress,  and  to  play  in  Voltaire's  trage- 
dies ! " 

The  princess  smiled  and  passed  on 
silently — what  cared  she  for  Voltaire'a 
praise  ?  She  knew  that  she  had  gained 
her  object,  and  that  the  king's  heart 


256 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


was  softened.  This  knowledge  made 
her  bright  and  brave ;  and  when  at  the 
close  of  the  drama  the  king  came  for- 
ward, embraced  her  with  warmth,  and 
thanked  her  in  fond  and  tender  words 
for  the  rich  enjoyment  of  the  evening, 
due  not  only  to  the  great  poet  Voltaire, 
but  also  to  the  genius  of  his  sister,  she 
reminded  him  smilingly  that  she  had  a 
favor  to  ask. 

*'  I  pray  you,  my  sister,"  said  Frederick, 
gayly,  "  ask  something  right  royal  from 
me  this  evening — I  am  in  the  mood  to 
grant  all  your  wishes." 

Amelia  looked  at  him  pleadingly. 
"  Sire,"  said  she,  "  appoint  an  hour  to- 
morrow morning  in  which  I  may  come 
to  you  and  make  known  my  request. 
Remember,  your  majesty  has  promised 
to  grant  it  in  advance." 

The  king's  face  was  slightly  clouded. 
"  This  is,  indeed,  a  happy  coincidence," 
said  he.  "  It  was  my  intention  to  ask 
an  interview  with  you  to-morrow,  and 
now  you  come  forward  voluntarily  to 
meet  my  wishes.  At  ten  in  the  morning 
I  shall  be  with  you,  and  I  also  have  some- 
thing to  ask." 

"  I  will  then  await  you  at  ten 
o'clock,  and  make  known  my  request." 

"And  when  I  have  granted  it,  my 
Bister,  it  will  be  your  part  to  fulfil  my 
wishes  also." 


CHAPTER  VI. 
A   woman's  heart. 

The  Piincess  Amelia  lay  the  whole 
of  the  following  night,  with  wide-open 
eyes  and  loudly-beating  heart,  pale  and 
breathless  upon  her  couch.  No  soft 
Dluraber  soothed  her  feverish-glowing 
brow ;  no  sweet  dream  of  hope  dissi- 
pated the  frightful  pictures  drawn  by 
her  tortured  fantasy. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  she,  again  and 
again — "  what  is  it  that  the  king  will 


ask  of  me  ?  what  new  mysterious  hor- 
ror rises  up  threateningly  before  me, 
and  casts  a  shadow  upon  my  future  ? " 

She  brought  every  word,  every  act 
of  the  previous  day  in  review  before 
her  mind.  Suddenly  she  recalled  the 
sad  and  sj^mpathetic  glance  of  her 
maid  of  honor :  the  light  insinuations, 
the  half-uttered  words  which  seemed  to 
convey  a  hidden  meaning. 

"  Ernestine  knows  something  that  she 
will  not  tell  me,"  cried  Amelia.  At 
this  thought  her  brow  was  covered 
with  cold  perspiration,  and  her  limba 
shivered  as  if  with  ague.  She  reached 
out  her  hand  to  ring  for  Fraulein  von 
Haak ;  then  suddenly  withdrew  it, 
ashamed  of  her  own  impatience. 
"  Why  should  I  wish  to  know  that 
which  I  cannot  change  ?  I  know  that 
a  misfortune  threatens  me.  I  will 
meet  it  with  a  clear  brow  and  a  bold 
heart." 

Amelia  lay  motionless  till  the  morn- 
ing. When  she  rose  from  her  bed,  her 
features  wore  an  expression  of  inexora- 
ble resolve.  Her  eyes  flashed  as  boldly, 
as  daringly,  as  her  royal  brother  Fred- 
erick's when  upon  the  battle-field.  She 
dressed  herself  carefully  and  tastefully, 
advanced  to  meet  her  ladies  with  a 
gracious  greeting,  and  chatted  calmly 
and  cheerfully  with  them  on  indiflferent 
subjects.  At  last  she  was  left  alone 
with  Fraulein  von  Haak.  She  stepped 
in  front  of  her,  and  looked  in  her  eyea 
long  and  searchingly. 

"  I  read  it  in  your  face,  Ernestine, 
but  I  entreat  you  do  not  make  it  known 
in  words  unless  my  knowledge  of  the 
facts  would  diminish  my  danger." 

Ernestine  shook  her  head  sadly. 
"  No,"  said  she,  "  your  royal  highness 
has  no  power  over  the  misfortune  that 
threatens  you.  You  are  a  princess,  and 
must  be  obedient  to  the  will  of  the 
king." 

'•  Good  I  "  replied  Amelia,  "  we  will 
see  if  my  brother  lias  power  to  subdue 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


25: 


my  will.  Now,  Ernestine,  leave  me ;  I 
am  expecting  the  king." 

Scarcely  bad  her  maid  withdrawn, 
when  the  door  of  the  anteroom  was 
opened,  and  the  king  was  announced. 
The  princess  advanced  to  meet  him 
smilingly,  but,  as  the  king  embraced 
her  and  impressed  a  kiss  upon  her 
brow,  she  shuddered  and  looked  up  at 
him  searchingly.  She  read  nothing  in 
his  face  but  the  most  heart-felt  kindli- 
ness and  love. 

"  If  he  makes  me  miserable,  it  is  at 
least  not  his  intention  to  do  so,"  thought 
she. — "  Now,  my  brother,  we  are  alone," 
said  the  princess,  taking  a  place  near 
the  king  upon  the  divan.  ''  And  now 
allow  me  to  make  known  my  request  at 
once — remember  you  have  promised  to 
grant  it." 

The  king  looked  with  a  piercing 
glance  at  the  sweet  face  now  trembling 
with  excitement  and  impatience: — 
"  Amelia,"  said  he,  "  have  you  no  ten- 
der word  of  greeting,  of  warm  home- 
love  to  say  to  me  ?  Do  you  not  know 
that  five  years  have  passed  since  we 
have  seen  each  other  alone,  and  enjoyed 
that  loving  and  confidential  intercourse 
which  becomes  brothers  and  sisters  ?  " 

"  I  know,"  said  Amelia,  sadly, "  these 
five  years  are  written  on  my  counte- 
nance, and  if  they  have  not  left  wrin- 
kles on  my  brow,  they  have  pierced  my 
heart  with  many  sorrows,  and  left 
their  shadows  there  !  Look  at  me,  my 
brother — am  I  the  same  sister  Ame- 
Ua?" 

**  No,"  said  the  king,  "  no  !  You  are 
pallid — your  cheeks  are  hollow.  But 
it  is  strange — I  see  this  now  for  the 
first  time.  You  have  been  an  image  of 
youth,  beauty,  and  grace,  up  to  this 
hour.  The  fatigue  of  yesterday  has  ex- 
hausted you — that  is  all." 

"  No,  my  brother,  you  find  me  pallid 

and  hollow-eyed    to-day,  because  you 

see  me  without  rouge.    I  have  to-day 

for  the  first  time  laid  aside  the  mask  of 

17 


rosy  youth,  and  the  smiling  indiflferenco 
of  manner  with  which  I  conceal  my 
face  and  my  heart  from  the  world. 
You  shall  see  me  to-day  as  I  really  am ; 
you  shall  know  what  I  have  suffered. 
Perhaps  then  you  will  be  more  willing 
to  fulfil  my  request?  Listen,  my 
brother,  I — " 

The  king  laid  his  hand  softly  upon 
her  shoulder.  "  Stop,  Amelia ;  since 
I  look  upon  you,  I  fear  you  will  ask 
me  something  not  in  my  power  to 
grant." 

"  You  have  given  me  your  promise, 
sire."  . 

"lAvill  not  withdraw  it;  but  I  ask 
you  to  hear  my  prayer  before  you 
speak.  Perhaps  it  may  exert  an  influ- 
ence— may  modify  your  request.  I  al- 
low myself,  therefore,  in  consideration 
of  your  own  interest,  solely  to  beg  that 
I  may  speak  first." 

'■  You  are  king,  sire,  and  have  only 
to  command,"  said  Amelia,  coldly. 

The  king  fixed  a  clear  and  piercing 
glance  for  one  moment  upon  his  sister, 
then  stood  up,  and,  assuming  an  ear- 
nest and  thoughtful  mien,  he  said  :  "  I 
stand  now  before  you,  princess,  not  as  a 
king,  but  as  the  ambassador  of  a  king. 
Princess  Amelia,  through  me  the  King 
of  Denmark  asks  your  hand ;  he  wishes 
to  wed  you,  and  I  have  given  my  con- 
sent. Your  approval  alone  is  wanting, 
and  I  think  you  will  not  refuse  it." 

The  princess  listened  with  silent  and 
intrepid  composure;  not  a  riiuscle  of 
her  face  trembled ;  her  features  did  not 
lose  for  one  moment  their  expression  ot 
quiet  resolve. 

"  Have  you  finished,  sire  ? "  said  she, 
indiflferently. 

"  I  have  finished,  and  I  await  your  re- 
ply." 

"  Before  I  answer,  allow  me  to  make 
known  my  own  request.  Perhaps  what 
I  may  say  may  modify  your  wishes. 
You  will,  at  least,  know  if  it  is  proper 
for  me  to  accept  the  hand  of  the  King 


258 


BERLIN   AND   SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


of  Denmark.  Does  your  majesty  allow 
me  to  speak  ?  " 

"  Speak,"  said  the  king,  seating  him- 
self near  her. 

After  a  short  pause  Amelia  said,  in 
an  earnest,  solemn  voice :  "  Sire,  I  pray 
for  pardon  for  the  Baron  Frederick  von 
Trenck."  Yielding  to  an  involuntary 
agitation,  she  glided  from  the  divan 
upon  her  knees,  and,  raising  her 
clasped  hands  entreatingly  toward  her 
brother,  she  repeated  :  "  Sire,  I  pray 
for  pardon  for  Baron  Frederick  von 
Trenck  ! " 

The  king  sprang  up,  dashed  back  the 
hands  of  his  sister  violently,  and  rushed 
hastily  backward  and  forward  in  the 
room. 

Amelia,  ashamed  of  her  own  humil- 
ity, rose  quickly  from  her  knees,  and,  as 
if  to  convince  herself  of  her  own  daring 
and  resolution,  she  stepped  immediate- 
ly in  front  of  the  king,  and  said,  in  a 
loud,  firm  voice  for  the  third  time : 
"  Sire,  I  pray  for  pardon  for  Baron 
Frederick  von  Trenck.  He  is  wretched 
because  he  is  banished  from  his  home  ; 
he  is  in  despair  because  he  receives  no 
justice  from  the  courts  of  law,  it  being 
well  known  that  he  has  no  protector  to 
demand  his  rights.  He  is  poor  and  al- 
most hopeless  because  the  courts  have 
refused  him  the  inheritance  of  his 
cousin,  the  captain  of  the  pandours, 
whose  enemies  have  accused  him  since 
his  death,  only  while  they  lusted  for 
his  millions.  His  vast  estate  has  been 
confiscated,  under  the  pretence  that  it 
was  unlawfully  acquired.  But  these 
accusations  have  not  been  established; 
and  yet,  now  that  he  is  dead,  they  re- 
fuse to  give  up  this  fortune  to  the 
rightful  heir,  Frederick  vcm  Trenck. 
Sire,  I  pray  that  you  will  regard  the  in- 
terests of  your  subject.  Be  graciously 
pleased  to  grant  him  the  favor  of  your 
intercession.  Help  him,  by  one  pow- 
erful word,  to  obtain  possession  of  his 
rights.  Ah,  sire,  you  see  well  how  mod- 


est, how  faint-hearted  I  have  become.  I 
ask  no  longer  for  happiness!  I  beg 
for  gold,  and  I  think,  sire,  we  owe  him 
this  pitiful  reparation  for  a  life's  hap- 
piness trodden  under  foot." 

Frederick  by  a  mighty  efibrt  suc- 
ceeded in  overcoming  his  rage.  He 
was  outwardly  as  calm  as  his  sister ;  but 
both  concealed  under  this  cool,  indif- 
ferent exterior  a  strong  energy,  an  un- 
faltering purpose.  They  were  quiet 
because  they  were  inflexible. 

"  And  this  is  the  favor  you  demand 
of  me  ?  "  said  the  king. 

"  The  favor  you  have  promised  to 
grant,"  said  Amelia. 

"And  if  I  do  this,  will  you  fulfil  my 
wish  ?  Will  you  become  the  wife  of 
the  King  of  Denmark  ?  Ah,  you  are 
silent.  Now,  then,  listen.  Consent  to 
become  Queen  of  Denmark,  and  on  the 
day  in  which  you  pass  the  boundary  of 
Prussia  and  enter  your  own  realm  as 
queen,  on  that  day  I  will  recall  Trenck 
to  Berlin,  and  all  shall  be  forgotten. 
Trenck  shall  again  enter  my  guard,  and 
my  ambassador  at  Vienna  shall  appear 
for  him  in  court.  Decide  now,  Ame- 
lia— will  you  be  Queen  of  Denmark?" 

''  Ah  sire,  you  offer  me  a  cruel  alter- 
native. You  wish  me  to  purchase  a  fa- 
vor which  you  had  already  freely  and 
unconditionally  granted." 

"  You  forget,  my  sister,  that  I  entreat 
where  I  have  the  right  to  command. 
It  will  be  easy  to  obey  when  through 
your  obedience  you  can  make  another 
happy.  Once  more,  then,  will  you  ac- 
cept my  proposition  ? " 

Amelia  did  not  answer  immediately. 
She  fixed  her  eyes  steadily  upon  the 
king's  face;  their  glances  met  firmly, 
quietly.  Each  read  in  the  eyes  of  the 
other  inexorable  resolve. 

"  Sire,  I  cannot  accept  your  proposi- 
tion ;  I  cannot  become  the  wife  of  the 
King  of  Denmark." 

The  king  shrank  back,  and  a  dark 
cloud  settled  upon  his  brow.  He  presser 


liiiifiiiHiliiilliiiijiil^ 


'  Sire,  I  pray  for  pardon  for  the  Baron  Frederick  von  Trenck.' 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


259 


his  band  nervously  upon  the  arm-chair 
near  which  he  stood,  and  forced  liimself 
to  appear  calm.  "  And  -why  can  you 
not  become  the  "wife  of  the  King  of 
Denmark  ? " 

"  Because  I  have  sworn  solemnly,  call- 
ing upon  God  to  witness,  that  I  will 
never  become  the  wife  of  any  other  man 
than  him  whom  I  love — because  I  con- 
sider myself  bound  to  God  and  to  my 
conscience  to  fulfil  this  oath.  As  I  can- 
not be  the  wife  of  Trenck,  I  will  remain 
unmarried." 

And  now  the  king  was  crimson  with 
rage,  and  his  eyes  flashed  fiercely. 
"  The  wife  of  Trenck  !  "  cried  he ;  "  the 
wife  of  a  traitor  !  Ah,  you  think  still 
of  him,  and  in  spite  of  your  vow — in 
spite  of  your  solemn  oath — you  still 
entertain  the  hope  of  this  unworthy 
alliance  1 " 

"  Sire,  remember  on  what  conditions 
my  oath  was  given.  You  promised  me 
Trenck  should  be  free,  and  I  swore  to 
give  him  up — never  even  to  write  to  him. 
Fate  did  not  accept  my  oath.  Trenck 
fled  before  you  had  time  to  fulfil  your 
word,  and  I  was  thus  released  from  my 
vow ;  and  yet  I  have  never  written  to 
him — ^liave  heard  nothing  from  him. 
No  one  knows  better  than  yourself  that 
I  have  had  no  word  from  him." 

"  So  five  years  have  gone  by  without 
his  writing  to  you,  and  yet  you  have 
the  hardihood  to-day  to  call  his  name  I " 

"  I  have  the  courage,  sire,  because  I 
know  well  Trenck  has  never  ceased  to 
love  me.  That  I  have  received  no 
letters  from  him  does  not  prove  that  he 
has  not  written  ;  it  only  proves  that  I 
am  surrounded  by  watchful  spies,  who 
do  not  allow  his  letters  to  reach  me." 

"Ah,"  said  the  king,  with  a  con- 
temptuous shrug  of  the  shoulders,  "  you 
are  of  opinion  that  I  have  suppressed 
these  letters  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  am  of  that  opinion." 

"  You  deceive  yourself,  then,  Amelia. 
I  have  not  surrounded  you  with  spies ; 


I  have  intercepted  no  letters.  You  look 
at  me  incredulously.  I  declare  to  you 
that  I  speak  the  truth.  Now  you  r  n 
comprehend,  my  sister,  that  your  heart 
has  deceived  you — you  have  squandered 
your  love  upon  a  wretched  object  who 
has  forgotten  you." 

"  Sire  !  "  cried  Amelia,  with  flaming 
eyes,  "  no  abuse  of  the  man  I  love  1 " 

"  You  love  him  still  !  "  said  the  king, 
white  with  passion,  and  no  longer  able 
to  control  his  rage — "  you  love  him  still  1 
You  have  wept  and  bewailed  him,  whUe 
he  has  shamefully  betrayed  and  mocked 
at  you.  Yes,  look  on  me,  if  you  will, 
with  those  scornful,  rebellious  glances — 
it  is  as  I  say  !  You  must  and  shall 
know  all  !  I  have  spared  you  until 
now  ;  I  trusted  in  your  own  noble 
heart !  I  thought  that,  driven  by  a 
storm  of  passion,  it  had,  like  a  proud 
livei",  for  one  moment  overstepped  its 
bounds;  then  quietly,  calmly  resumed 
that  course  which  nature  and  fate  had 
marked  out  for  it.  I  see  now  that  I 
have  been  deceived  in  you,  as  you  have 
been  deceived  in  Trenck  1  I  tell  you 
he  has  betrayed  you !  He,  formerly  a 
Prussian  ofiicer,  at  the  luxurious  and 
debauched  court  of  Petersburg,  has  not 
only  betrayed  you,  but  his  king.  At 
the  table  of  his  mistress,  the  wife  of 
Bestuche^  he  has  shown  your  picture 
and  boasted  that  you  gave  it  to  him. 
The  Duke  of  Goltz,  my  ambassador  at 
the  Russian  court,  informed  me  of  this ; 
and  look  you,  I  did  not  slay  him  1  I 
did  not  demand  of  the  Empress  Anne 
that  the  Prussian  deserter  should  be 
delivered  up.  I  remembered  that  you 
had  once  loved  him,  and  that  I  had 
promised  you  to  be  lenient.  But  I  have 
had  him  closely  watched.  I  know  all 
his  deeds ;  I  am  acquainted  with  all  his 
intrigues  and  artifices.  I  know  he  has 
had  a  love-affair  with  the  young  Count- 
ess Narischkin — that  he  continued  his 
attJtitions  long  after  her  marriage  with 
General  Bondurow.     Can  you  believe, 


2G0 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OE, 


my  sister,  that  he  remembered  the 
modest,  innocent  oaths  of  love  and  con- 
stancy he  had  exchanged  with  you 
while  enjoying  himself  in  the  presence 
of  this  handsome  and  voluptuous  young 
woman  ?  Do  you  believe  that  he  re- 
called them  when  he  arranged  a  plan 
of  flight  with  his  beloved,  and  sought 
a  safe  asylum  beyond  the  borders  of 
Kussia  ?  Do  you  believe  that  he  thought 
of  you  when  he  received  from  this  ill- 
regulated  woman  her  diamonds  and  all 
the  gold  she  possessed,  in  order  to 
smooth  the  way  to  their  escape  ? " 

''  Mercy,  mercy !  "  stammered  Amelia, 
pale  and  trembling,  and  sinking  upon 
a  seat.  "  Cease,  my  brother ;  do  you 
not  see  that  your  words  are  killing  me? 
Have  pity  upon  me  !  " 

"  No !  no  mercy  ! "  said  the  king  ; 
"you  must  and  you  shall  know  all,  in 
order  that  you  may  be  cured  of  this  un- 
holy malady,  this  shameful  love.  You 
shall  know  that  Trenck  not  only  sells 
the  secrets  of  politics,  but  the  secrets  of 
love.  Every  thing  is  merchandise  with 
him,  even  his  own  heart.  He  not  only 
loved  the  beautiful  Bondurow,  but  he 
loved  her  diamonds.  This  young  wo- 
man died  of  the  small-pox,  a  few  days 
before  the  plan  of  flight  could  be  fully 
arranged.  Trenck,  however,  became 
her  heir ;  he  refused  to  give  back  the 
brilliants  and  the  eight  thousand  rubles 
which  she  had  placed  in  his  hands." 

"  O  my  God,  my  God !  grant  that  I 
die  I  "  cried  the  Princess  Amelia. 

"But  the  death  of  his  beloved,"  said 
the  king  (without  regarding  the  wild 
exclamations  of  the  princess) — "  this 
death  was  so  greatly  to  his  advantage, 
that  he  soon  consoled  himself  with  the 
love  of  the  attractive  Bestuchef — this 
proud  and  intriguing  woman  who  now, 
through  the  weakness  of  her  husband, 
rules  over  Russia,  and  threatens  by  her 
plots  and  intrigues  to  complicate  the 
history  and  peace  of  Europe.  SAe  is 
neither  young  nor  beautiful ;   she    is 


forty  years  of  age,  and  you  cannot  be- 
lieve that  Trenck  at  four-and-twenty 
burns  with  love  for  her.  But  she  adores 
him  ;  she  loves  hiin  with  that  mad,  bac- 
chantic  ardor  which  the  Roman  Em- 
l^ress  Julia  felt  for  the  gladiators,  whose 
magnificent  proportions  she  admired  at 
the  cii-cus.  She  loved  him  and  con- 
fessed it ;  and  his  heart,  unsubdued  by 
the  ancient  charms,  yielded  to  the  magic 
power  of  her  jewels  and  her  gold.  He 
became  the  adorer  of  Bestuchef;  he 
worked  diligently  in  the  cabinet  of  tlie 
chancellor,  and  appeared  to  be  the  best 
of  Russian  patriots,  and  seemed  ready  to 
kiss  the  knout  with  the  same  devotion 
with  which  he  kissed  the  slipper  of  the 
chancellor's  wife.  At  this  time  I  re- 
solved to  try  his  patriotism,  and  com- 
missioned my  ambassador  to  see  if  hia 
patriotic  ardor  could  not  be  cooled  by 
gold.  Well,  my  sister,  for  two  thousand 
ducats,  Trenck  copied  the  design  of 
the  fortress  of  Cronstadt,  which  the 
chancellor  had  just  received  from  his 
engineer." 

"  That  is  impossible ! "  said  Amelia, 
whose  tears  had  now  ceased  to  flow, 
and  who  listened  to  her  brother  with 
distended  but  quiet  eyes. 

"  Impossible  I "  said  Frederick.  "  Oh, 
my  sister,  gold  has  a  magic  power,  to 
which  nothing  is  impossible  !  I  wished 
to  unmask  the  traitor  Trenck,  and  ex- 
pose him  in  his  true  colors  to  the  chan- 
cellor. I  ordered  Goltz  to  hand  him 
the  copy  of  the  fortress,  drawn  by 
Trenck  and  signed  with  his  name,  and 
to  tell  him  how  he  obtained  it.  The 
chancellor  was  beside  himself  with  rage, 
and  swore  to  take  a  right  Russian  re- 
venge upon  the  traitor — he  declared  he 
should  die  under  the  knout." 

Amelia  uttered  a  wild  cry,  and 
clasped  her  hands  over  her  convulsed 
face. 

The  king  laughed  bitterly.  "  Com- 
pose yourself — we  triumphed  too  early ; 
we  had  forgotten  the  woman  !    In  his 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT   AKD   HiS  FRIENDS. 


J61 


.*age  the  chancellor  disclosed  every 
thing  to  her,  and  uttered  the  most  furi- 
ous curses  and  resolves  against  Trenck. 
She  found  means  to  warn  him,  and 
when  the  police  came  in  the  night  to 
arrest  him,  he  was  not  at  home — he  had 
taken  refuge  in  the  house  of  his  friend 
the  English  ambassador,  Lord  Iljnd- 
forth."  * 

"  Ah !  he  was  saved,  then  1 "  whispered 
Amelia. 

The  king  looked  at  her  in  amaze- 
ment "  Yes,  he  was  saved.  The  next 
dc^jr,  Madame  Bestuchef  found  means 
to  convince  her  credulous  husband  that 
Trenck  w^as  the  victim  of  an  intrigue, 
and  entirely  innocent  of  the  charge 
brought  against  him.  Trenck  remained, 
therefore,  the  friend  of  the  house,  and 
Madame  Bestuchef  had  the  audacity  to 
publicly  insult  my  ambassador.  Trenck 
now  announced  himself  as  a  raging 
adversary  of  Prussia.  He  inflamed  the 
heai  t  of  his  powerful  mistress  with  hate, 
and  they  swore  the  destruction  of 
Prussia.  Both  were  zealously  engaged 
in  changing  the  chancellor,  my  private 
and  confidential  friend,  into  an  enemy; 
and  Trenck,  the  Russian  patriot,  entered 
the  service  of  the  house  of  Austria,  to 
intrigue  against  me  and  my  realm.t 
Bestuchef,  however,  withstood  these  in- 
trigues, and  in  his  distrust  he  watched 
over  and  threatened  his  faithless  wife 
and  faithless  friend.  Trenck  would 
have  been  lost,  without  doubt,  if  a 
lucky  accident  had  not  again  rescued 
him.  His  cousin  the  pandour  died  in 
Vienna,  and,  as  Trenck  believed  that 
he  had  left  him  a  fortune  of  some  mil- 
lions, he  tore  his  tender  ties  asunder, 

*  Trenck'B  Memoirs. 

t  Trenck  himself  vrrites  on  this  sub.iect :  "  I  would 
U  that  time  have  changed  my  fatherland  into  a 
cowling  wilderness,  if  the  opportunity  had  offered. 
I  do  not  deny  that  fl-om  this  moment  I  did  every 
thing  that  was  possible,  in  Enssia,  to  pmmote  the 
views  of  the  imperial  ambassador,  Duke  Vernis, 
who  knew  how  to  nourish  the  fire  already  kindled, 
ftod  lo  make  use  of  my  services." 


and  hastened  to  Vienna  to  receive  this 
rich  inheritance,  which,  to  his  astonish- 
ment, he  found  to  consist  not  in  millions, 
but  in  law  processes.  This,  Amelia,  is 
the  history  of  Trenck  during  these  five 
years  in  which  you  have  received-  no 
news  from  him.  Can  you  still  say  that 
he  has  never  forgotten  you  ?  that  you 
are  bound  to  be  Mthful  to  him  ?  You 
see  I  do  not  speak  to  you  as  a  king,  but 
as  a  friend,  and  that  I  look  at  all  these 
unhappy  circumstances  from  your  stand- 
point. Treat  me,  then,  as  a  friend,  and 
answer  me  sincerely.  Do  you  still  feel 
bound  by  your  oath  ?  Do  you  not  know 
that  he  is  a  faithless  traitor,  and  that 
he  has  forgotten  you  ? " 

The  princess  had  listened  to  the  king 
with  a  bowed  head  and  downcast  eyes. 
Now  she  looked  up ;  the  fire  of  inspira- 
tion beamed  in  her  eye,  a  melancholy 
smile  played  upon  her  lips. 

"  Sire,"  said  she,  "  I  took  my  vow 
without  conditions,  and  I  will  keep  it 
faithfully  till  ray  death.  Supi)ose,  even, 
that  a  part  of  what  you  have  said  is 
true,  Trenck  is  young ;  you  cannot  ex- 
pect that  his  ardent  and  passionate 
heart  should  be  buried  under  the  ashes 
of  the  vase  of  tears  in  which  our  love, 
in  its  beauty  and  bloom,  crumbled  to 
dust.  But  his  heart,  however  unstable 
it  may  appear,  turns  ever  back  faithfully 
to  that  fountain,  and  he  seeks  to  purify 
and  sanctify  the  wild  and  stormy  pres- 
ent by  the  remembrance  of  the  beauti- 
ful and  innocent  past.  You  say  that 
Trenck  forgot  me  in  his  prosperity ; 
well,  then,  sire,  in  his  misfortune  he  has 
remembered  me.  In  his  misfortune  he 
has  forgotten  the  faithless,  cold,  and 
treacherous  letter  which  I  wrote  to  him, 
and  which  he  received  in  the  prison  of 
Glatz.  In  his  wretchedness,  he  has 
written  to  me,  and  called  upon  me  for 
aid.  It  shall  not  be  said  that  I  did  not 
hear  his  voice — that  I  was  not  joyfuUy 
ready  to  serve  him  1 " 

"  And  he  has  dared  to  write  to  yo  ^ ! " 


262 


BERLIN   AND   SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


said  the  king,  with  trembling  lips  and 
Bcornful  eye.  "  Who  was  bold  enough 
to  hand  you  this  letter  ? " 

"  Oh,  sire,  you  will  not  surely  de- 
mand that  I  shall  betray  my  friends  ! 
Moreover,  if  I  name  the  messenger  who 
brought  me  this  letter,  it  would  answer 
no  purpose ;  you  would  arrest  and  2Dun- 
ish  him,  and  to-morrow  I  should  find  an- 
other to  serve  me  as  well.  Unhappy  love 
finds  pity,  protection,  and  friends,  every- 
where. Sire,  I  repeat  my  request — par- 
don for  Baron  Trenck !  " 

"  And  I,"  cried  the  king,  in  a  loud, 
stem  voice,  "  I  ask  if  you  accept  my 
proposition — if  you  will  become  the 
wife  of  the  King  of  Denmark — and, 
mark  well,  princess,  this  is  the  answer 
to  your  prayer." 

"  Sire,  may  God  take  j)ity  on  me ! 
Punish  me  with  your  utmost  scorn — I 
cannot  break  my  oath  !  You  can  force 
me  to  leave  my  vows  unfulfilled — not 
to  become  the  wife  of  the  man  I  love — 
but  you  cannot  force  me  to  perjure  my- 
self. I  should  indeed  be  forsworn  if 
I  stepped  before  the  altar  with  another 
man,  and  promised  a  love  and  faith 
which  my  heart  knows  not,  and  can 
never  know." 

The  king  uttered  a  shrill  cry  of  rage ; 
maledictions  hung  upon  his  lips,  but  he 
held  them  back,  and,  forcing  himself  to 
appear  composed,  he  folded  his  arms, 
and  walked  hastily  backward  and  for- 
ward through  the  room. 

The  princess  gazed  at  him  in  breath- 
less silence,  and  with  loudly-beating 
heart  she  prayed  to  God  for  mercy  and 
help  ;  she  felt  that  this  hour  would  de- 
cide the  fate  of  her  whole  life.  Sud- 
denly the  king  stood  before  her.  Ilis 
countenance  was  now  jjerfectly  com- 
posed. 

"Princess  Amelia,"  said  he,  "I  give 
you  four  weeks'  respite.  Consider  well 
what  I  have  said  to  you.  Take  coun- 
sel with  your  conscience,  your  undc- 
rtanding,   and  your  honor.     In    four 


weeks  I  will  come  again  to  you,  and 
ask  if  you  resolved  to  fulfil  my  request, 
and  become  the  wife  of  the  King  of 
Denmark.  Until  that  time,  I  will  know 
how  to  restrain  the  Danish  ambassador. 
If  you  dare  still  to  oppose  my  will,  I 
will  yet  fulfil  my  promise,  and  grant 
you  the  favor  you  ask  of  me.  I  will 
make  proposals  to  Trenck  to  return  to 
Prussia,  and  the  inducements  I  offer 
shall  be  so  splendid  that  he  will  not 
resist  them.  Let  me  once  have  him 
here,  and  it  shall  be  my  affair  to  hold 
fast  to  him." 

He  bowed  to  the  princess  and  left  the 
room.  Amelia  watched  him  silently, 
breathlessly,  till  he  disappeared,  then 
heaved  a  deep  sigh  and  called  loudly 
for  her  maid. 

'•  Ernestine ! — Ernestine  ! "  said  she, 
with  trembling  lips,  "find  me  a  faith- 
ful messenger  whom  I  can  send  imme- 
diately to  Vienna.  I  must  warn  Trenck  ! 
Danger  threatens  him  !  No  matter 
what  my  brother's  ambassador  may 
offer  him,  with  what  glittering  prom- 
ises he  may  allure  him,  Trenck  dare 
not  listen  to  them,  dare  not  accept 
them !  He  must  never  return  to  Prussia 
— he  is  lost  if  he  does  so  !  " 

Frederick  returned  slowly  and  silent- 
ly to  his  apartment.  As  he  thought 
over  the  agitating  scene  he  had  just 
passed  through,  he  murmm-ed  lightly : 
"  Oh,  woman's  heart !  thou  art  like  the 
restless,  raguig  sea,  and  pearls  and 
monsters  lie  in  thy  depths  1 " 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

MADAME    VON   COCCEJI. 

The  Marquis  d'Argens  was  right. 
Barbarina  and  her  sister  had  left  Eng- 
land and  returned  to  Berlin.  They  oc- 
cupied the  same  expensive  and  beautiful 
hotel  in  Behren  Street*  ^ut  it  wjis  no 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


263 


onger  surrounded  l)y  costly  equipages, 
and  besieged  by  gallant  cavaliers.  The 
elite  of  the  court  no  longer  came  to 
wonder  and  to  worship. 

Barbarina's  house  was  lonely  and  de- 
serted, and  she  herself  was  changed. 
She  was  no  longer  the  graceful,  enchant- 
ing prima  donna,  the  floating  sylph ; 
she  was  a  calm,  proud  woman,  almost 
imposing  in  her  grave,  pale  beauty  ;  her 
melancholy  smile  touched  the  heart, 
while  it  contrasted  strangely  with  her 
flashing  eye. 

Barbarina  was  in  the  same  saloon 
where  we  last  saw  her,  surrounded  with 
dukes  and  princes — worshippers  at  her 
shrine !  To-day  she  was  alone  ;  no  one 
was  by  her  side  but  her  faithful  sister 
Marietta.  She  lay  stretched  upon  the 
divan,  with  her  arras  folded  across  her 
bosom ;  her  head  was  thrown  back 
upon  the  white,  gold-embroidered  cush- 
ion, and  her  long,  black  curls  fell  in 
rich  profusion  arouud  her;  with  wide- 
open  eyes  she  stared  upon  the  ceiling, 
completely  lost  in  sad  and  painful 
thoughts.  At  a  small  table  by  her  side 
sat  her  sister  Marietta,  busily  occupied 
in  opening  and  reading  the  letters  with 
which  the  taljle  was  covered. 

And  now  she  uttered  a  cry  of  joy, 
and  a  happy  smile  played  upon  her 
face.  "A  letter  from  Milan,  from  the 
impressario^  Binatelli,"  said  she. 

Barbarina  remained  immovable,  and 
still  stared  at  the  ceiling. 

"  Binatelli  offers  you  a  magnificent 
engagement ;  he  declares  that  all  Italy 
languishes  with  impatience  to  see  you, 
that  every  city  implores  your  presence, 
and  he  is  ambitious  to  be  the  first  to 
allure  you  back  to  your  fatherland." 

"  Did  you  write  to  him  that  I  de- 
sired an  engagement  ?  "  asked  Barba- 
rina. 

"  No,  sister,"  said  Marietta,  slightly 
blushing ;  "  I  wrote  to  him  as  to  an  old 
and  valued  friend ;  I  described  the  rest- 
Less,  weary,  nomadic  life  we  were  lead- 


ing, and  told  him  you  had  left  the  Lon- 
don stage  forever." 

"  And  does  it  follow  that  I  will  there- 
fore appear  in  Milan  ?  Write  at  once 
that  I  am  grateful  for  his  offer,  but 
neither  in  Milan  nor  any  other  Italian 
city  will  I  appear  upon  the  stage." 

"Ah,  Barbarina,  shall  we  never  again 
return  to  our  beautiful  Italy  ? "  said 
Marietta,  tearfully. 

"  Did  I  say  that,  sister  ?  I  said  only, 
I  would  not  apjjear  in  public." 

''  But,  Barbarina,  he  entreats  so  ear- 
nestly, and  he  offers  you  an  enormous 
salary  ! " 

"  I  am  rich  enough.  Marietta." 

"  No  !  no  one  is  ricli  enough !  Money 
is  power,  and  the  more  millions  one 
has  to  spend,  the  more  is  one  beloved." 

"What  care  I  for  the  love  of  men  ?  I 
despise  them  all — all ! "  cried  Barba- 
rina, passionately. 

•'  Wiiat !  all  ?  "  said  Marietta,  with  a 
meaning  smile ;  "  all  —  even  Cocceji  ?  ** 

Barbarina  raised  herself  hastily,  and, 
leaning  upon  her  elbow,  she  gazed 
with  surprise  upon  her  sister.  "You 
think,  then,  that  I  love  Cocceji  ?" 

"  Did  you  not  tell  me  so  yourself? " 

"Ah,  I  said  so  myself,  did  I?"  sairf 
Barbarina,  contemptuously,  and  sink-- 
ing  back  into  her  former  quiet  position. 

"  Yes,  sister,  do  you  not  remember," 
said  Marietta,  eagerly;  "can  you  not 
recall  how  sad  you  were  when  we  left 
Berlin  a  year  ago  ?  You  sobbed  and 
wept,  and  looked  ever  backward  from 
the  carriage,  then  lightly  whispered, 
'  My  happiness,  my  life,  my  love  remain 
in  Berlin ! '  I  asked  you  in  what  your 
happiness,  your  love,  your  life  consisted. 
Your  answer  was,  '  Do  you  not  know, 
then,  that  I  love  Cocceji  ? '  In  truth, 
good  sister,  I  do  not  believe  you  I  I 
thought  you  left  Berlin  because  the 
mother  of  Cocceji  implored  you  to  do 
so.  I  know  you  to  be  magnanimoua 
enough  to  sacrifice  yourself  to  the  pray- 
ers and  happiness  of  another,  and  to* 


264 


BERLIN   AND   SANS-SOU  CI ;    OR, 


this  reason  alone  you  went  to  London, 
where  Lord  Stuart  Mackenzie  awai+ed 
us." 

"  Poor  lord ! "  said  Barbarina,  thought- 
fully. "  I  sinned  greatly  against  him  ! 
He  loved  me  fondly  ;  he  waited  for  me 
with  constancy  ;  he  was  so  truly  happj^ 
when  I  came  at  last,  as  he  hoped,  to 
fulfil  my  promise,  and  become  his 
wife  !  God  knows  I  meant  to  be  true, 
and  I  swore  to  myself  to  make  him 
a  faithful  wife ;  but  my  will  was 
weaker  than  my  heart.  I  could  not 
marry  him,  and  on  my  wedding-day  I 
fled  from  London,   Poor  Lord  Stuart !  " 

"And  on  that  day,  when,  bathed  in 
tears,  you  told  me  to  prepare  to  leave 
London  with  you  secretly ;  on  that  day 
you  said  to  me,  '  I  cannot,  no,  I  cannot 
wed  a  man  I  do  not  love.  The  air 
chokes  me,  Marietta ;  I  must  return  to 
Berlin  ;  he  is  there  whom  I  love,  whom 
I  will  love  eternally  ! '  I  said  again, 
'Whom  do  you  love,  my  sister?'  and 
you  replied,  '  I  love  Cocceji ! '  And 
now  you  are  amazed  that  I  believe  you  ! 
Is  it  possible  that  I  can  doubt  your 
word?  Is  it  possible  that  Barbarina 
tells  an  untruth  to  her  fond  and  faith- 
ful sister  ?  that  she  shrouds  her  heart, 
and  will  not  allow  Marietta  to  read 
what  is  written  there  ? " 

"If  I  did  that,"  said  Barbarina,  un- 
easily, "  it  was  because  I  shrank  from 
reading  my  own  heart.  Be  pitiful,  Ma- 
rietta, do  not  lift  the  veil ;  allow  my 
poor  heart  to  heal  its  wounds  in  peace 
and  quiet." 

"It  cannot  heal,  sister,  if  we  remain 
here,"  said  Marietta,  trembling  with 
suppressed  tears.  "  Let  us  fly  far,  far 
away  ;  accept  the  ofier  of  Binatelli ;  it 
is  the  call  of  God,  Come,  come,  Bar- 
barina, we  will  return  to  our  own  Italy, 
to  beautiful  Rome.  Remain  no  longer 
in  this  cold  north,  by  these  icy  hearts  ! " 

"  I  cannot,  I  cannot !  "  cried  Barba- 
rina, with  anguish,  "  I  have  no  father- 
land— ^no  home.    I  am  no  longer  a  Ro- 


man, no  longer  an  Italian.  I  am  a 
wretched,  homeless  wanderer.  "Wliy 
will  not  my  heart  bleed  and  die  ?  Why 
am  I  condemned  to  live,  and  be  con- 
scious of  this  torture  ?  " 

"  Stop,  stop,  my  sister  ! "  cried  Ma- 
rietta, wildly  ;  "  not  another  word ! 
You  are  right ;  we  will  not  lift  this 
fearful  veil.  Cover  up  your  heart  in 
darkness — it  will  heal !  " 

"  It  will  heal !  "  repeated  Barbarina, 
pressing  Marietta  to  her  bosom  and 
weeping  bitterly. 

The  entrance  of  a  servant  aroused 
them  both ;  Barbarina  turned  away  to 
hide  her  weeping  eyes.  The  servant 
announced  a  lady,  who  desired  anxious- 
ly to  speak  with  the  signora, 

"  Say  to  her  that  Barbarina  is  unwell, 
and  can  receive  no  one," 

In  a  few  moments  the  servant  re- 
turned with  a  card,  which  he  handed 
to  Marietta,  "The  lady  declared  she 
knew  the  signora  would  receive  her 
when  she  saw  the  card," 

"  Madame  Cocceji,"  said  Marietta. 

Barbarina  rose  up  hastily. 

'•  Will  you  receive  her  ? "  asked  Ma- 
rietta. 

"  I  •will  receive  her." 

And  now  a  great  change  passed  over 
Barbarina :  all  melancholy,  all  languor 
had  disappeared;  her  eyes  sparkled, 
her  cheeks  glowed  with  an  engaging 
smile,  as  she  advanced  to  greet  the 
proud  lady  who  stood  upon  the  thresh 
old, 

"Ah,  generous  lady,  how  good  you 
are ! "  said  Barbarina,  in  a  slightly 
mocking  tone.  "I  have  but  just  re- 
turned to  Berlin,  and  you  gladden  my 
heart  again  by  your  visit,  and  grant  me 
the  distinction  and  privilege  of  receiving 
in  my  house  one  of  the  most  eminent 
and  virtuous  ladies  of  Berlin." 

Madame  Cocceji  threw  a  contempt- 
uous glance  upon  the  beautiful  young 
woman  who  dared  to  look  in  her  fiice 
with  such  smiling  composure. 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT   AXD   HIS  FRIENDS. 


265 


"  I  have  not  come,  madame,  to  visit 
you,  but  to  speak  to  you !  " 

"  I  do  not  see  the  distinction ;  we 
visit  those  with  whom  we  wish  to 
opeak." 

"  We  visit  those  with  whom  we  wish 
to  speak,  and  who  are  trying  to  evade 
an  interview  !  I  have  sent  to  you  twice, 
signora,  and  commanded  you  to  come 
to  me,  but  you  have  not  obeyed  !  " 

"  I  am  accustomed  to  receive  those 
who  wish  to  see  me  at  my  own  house," 
said  Barbarina,  quietly.  "  Indeed,  ma- 
dame, I  understand  your  language  per- 
haps but  poorly.  Is  it  according  to 
the  forms  of  etiquette  to  say,  '  I  have 
commanded  you  to  come  to  me  ? '  In 
my  own  fair  land  we  give  a  fiaer  turn  to 
our  speech,  and  we  beg  for  the  honor 
of  a  visit."  As  Barbarina  said  this,  she 
bowed  with  laughing  grace  to  the 
proud  woman,  who  gazed  at  her  with 
suppressed  rage, 

■ "  This  is  the  second  time  I  have 
been  forced  to  seek  an  interview  with 
you." 

"  The  first  time,  madame,  you  came 
with  a  petition,  and  I  was  so  happy  as 
to  be  able  to  grant  your  request.  May 
I  be  equally  fortunate  to-day  !  With- 
out doubt  you  come  again  as  a  peti- 
tioner,'' said  Barbarina,  with  the  cun- 
ning manner  of  a  cat,  who  purrs  while 
she  scratches. 

The  proud  Cocceji  was  wounded; 
she  frowned  sternly,  but  suppressed  her 
anger.  Barbarina  was  right  —  she 
came  with  a  request. 

"  I  called  upon  you  a  year  ago,"  said 
she,  "  and  implored  you  to  cure  my  son 
of  that  wild  love  which  had  fallen 
upon  him  like  the  fever  of  madness — 
which  made  him  forget  liis  duty,  his 
rank,  his  parents,  I  besought  you  to 
leave  Berlin,  and  withdraw  from  his 
sight  that  magical  beauty  which  had 
seduced  him," 

"And  I  declared  myself  ready  to 
grant  your  petition,"  interrupted  Barba- 


rina, "  Yes,  I  conformed  myself  to  your 
wishes,  and  left  Berlin,  not,  however, 
I  confess,  to  do  you  a  service,  but  be- 
cause I  did  not  love  your  son  ;  and  there 
is  nothing  more  dull  and  wearisome 
than  to  listen  to  protestations  of  love 
that  you  cannot  return.  Bat  look 
you,  gracious  lady,  that  is  a  misfortune 
which  pursues  me  at  every  step.  I 
left  Berlin  to  escape  this  evil,  and  fled 
to  London,  to  find  there  the  same  old 
story  of  a  love  I  could  not  return,  I 
fled  then  from  London,  to  escape  the 
danger  of  becoming  the  wife  of  Lord 
Stuart  McKenzie," 

"  Why  did  you  return  to  Berlin  ? " 
said  Madame  Cocceji,  in  an  imperious 
tone. 

Barbarina  looked  up  surprised : — 
"Madame,"  said  she,  "for  that  step  I 
am  accountable  to  no  one." 

"  Yes,  you  are  accountable  to  me  !  " 
cried  Madame  Cocceji,  enraged  to  the 
utmost  by  Barbarina's  proud  compos- 
ure. "You  are  accountable  to  me — 
me,  the  mother  of  Cocceji !  You  have 
seduced  him  by  your  charms,  and 
driven  him  to  madness.  Pie  defies  hia 
parents  and  the  anger  of  his  king,  and 
yields  himself  up  to  this  shameful  pas- 
sion, which  covers  his  family  with  dis- 
grace." 

Barbarina  uttered  a  cry  of  rage,  and 
advanced  a  few  steps.  "  Madame," 
said  she,  laying  her  hand  upon  the  arm 
of  Madame  Cocceji,  "  you  have  called 
this  love  shameful.  You  have  said 
that  an  alliance  with  me  would  dis- 
grace your  family.  Take  back  your 
words,  I  pray  you !  " 

"  I  retract  nothing.  I  said  but  the 
truth,"  cried  Madame  Cocceji,  freeing 
herself  from  Barbarina. 

"Take  back  your  words,  madame, 
for  your  own  sake !  "  said  Barbarina, 
threateningly. 

"  I  cannot,  and  will  not !  "  slie  re- 
plied, imperiously,  "  and  if  your  pride 
and    arrogance    have    not   completely 


266 


BEIILIN    A.ND  SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


blinded  you,  iii  your  heart  you  will 
confess  that  I  am  right.  The  dancer 
Barbarina  can  never  be  the  daugliter  of 
the  Coccejis.  That  would  be  a  mock- 
•  ery  of  all  honorable  customs,  would 
cast  contempt  upon  the  graves  of  our 
ancestors,  and  bring  shame  upon  our 
nobility.  And  yet  my  unhappy  son 
dares  think  of  this  dishonor.  In  his 
insane  folly  he  rushed  madly  from  my 
presence,  uttering  wordf?  of  rage  and 
bitter  reproach,  because  I  tried  to  show 
him  that  this  marriage  was  impossible." 

"Ah,  I  love  him  for  this !  "  cried  Bar- 
barina, with  a  genial  smile. 

Without  regarding  her,  Madame 
Cocceji  went  on  :  "  Even  against  his 
father  he  has  dared  to  oppose  himself. 
He  defies  the  anger  of  his  king.  Oh, 
signora,  in  the  anguish  of  my  soul  I 
tarn  to  you;  have  pity  with  me  and 
with  my  most  unhappy  son  1  He  is 
lost ;  he  will  go  down  to  the  grave  dis- 
honored, if  you  do  not  come  to  my 
help !  If,  indeed,  you  love  him,  your 
love  will  teach  you  to  make  the  offer- 
ing of  self-sacrifice,  and  I  will  bless 
you,  and  forgive  you  all  the  anguish 
you  have  caused  me.  If  you  love  him 
not,  you  will  not  be  so  cruel  as  to  bury 
the  happiness  and  honor  of  a  whole 
family  because  of  your  lofty  ambition 
and  your  relentless  will.  Hear  my 
prayer — leave  this  city,  and  go  so  far 
away  that  my  son  can  never  follow, 
never  reach  you ! " 

"Then  I  must  go  into  my  grave," 
Baid  Barbarina ;  "  there  is  no  other 
refuge  to  which,  if  he  truly  loves,  he 
cannot  follow  me.  I,  dear  madame, 
cannot,  like  yourself,  move  unknown 
and  unregarded  through  the  world. 
My  fame  is  the  herald  which  announces 
my  presence  in  every  land,  and  every 
city  offers  me,  with  l^ended  knees,  the 
keys  of  her  gates  and  the  keys  of  her 
heart.  I  cannot  hide  myself.  Nothing 
is  known  of  the  proud  and  noble  fam- 
ily of  the  Cocceji  oatside  of  Prussia ; 


but  the  wide,  wide  world  knows  of  the 
Barbarina,  and  the  laurel-wrealhs  wit., 
which  I  have  been  crowned  in  every 
land  have  never  been  desecrated  by  an 
unworthy  act  or  an  impure  thought. 
There  is  nothing  in  my  life  of  which  I 
repent,  nothing  for  which  I  blush  or 
am  ashamed  !  And  yet  you  have  dared 
to  reproach  me — you  have  had  the  au- 
dacity to  seek  to  humiliate  me  in  my 
own  house." 

"  You  forget  with  whom  you  have 
the  honor  to  speak." 

"You,  madame,  were  the  first  to  for- 
get yourself;  I  follow  your  example.  I 
suppose  Madame  Cocceji  knows  and 
does  ever  that  which  is  great  and 
right.  I  said  you  had  vilified  me  in 
my  own  house,  and  yet  you  ask  of  me 
an  act  of  magnanimity !  Why  should 
I  relinquish  your  son's  love  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  Because  there  remains  even 
yet,  perhaps,  a  spark  of  honorable  feel- 
ing in  your  bosom.  Because  vou  know 
that  my  family  will  never  receive  you, 
but  will  curse  and  abhor  you,  if  you 
dare  to  entice  my  son  into  a  marriage. 
Because  you  know  that  the  Prussian 
nobles,  the  king  himself,  are  on  my 
side.  The  king,  signora,  no  longer  fa- 
vors you ;  the  king  has  promised  us  his 
assistance.  The  king  will  use  every 
means  of  grace  and  power  to  prevent  a 
marriage,  which  he  himself  has  written 
to  me  will  cover  my  son  with  dis- 
honor ! "  * 

"  That  is  false  !  "  cried  Barbarina. 

"  It  is  true !  and  it  is  true  that  the 
king,  in  order  to  protect  the  house  of 
Cocceji  from  this  shame,  has  given  my 
husband  authority  to  arrest  my  son  and 
cast  him  into  prison,  provided  my 
prayers  and  tears  and  menaces  should 
be  of  no  avail  I  If  we  fail,  we  will 
make  use  of  this  authority,  and  give 
him  over  to  General  Hake.  +  Think 
well  what  you  do — do  not  drive  us  to 


*  Schneider,  "  History  of  the  Opera  in  JJerlin." 
t  Ibid. 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  A>VD  HIS  FRIENDS. 


267 


extremity.  I  say  there  is  a  point  at 
which  even  a  mother's  love  Avill  fail, 
and  the  head  of  our  house  will  act  with 
all  the  sternness  which  the  law  and  the 
king  permit.  Go,  then,  Signora  Barba- 
rina  —  bow  yoiu*  proud  head  —  leave 
Berlin.  Return  to  your  own  land.  I 
repeat  to  you,  do  not  drive  us  to  ex- 
tremity ! " 

Barbarina  listened  to  this  with  cool 
and  mocking  composure.  Not  a  mus- 
cle of  her  face  moved — she  was  indeed 
striking  in  her  majesty  and  her  beauty. 
Her  imposing  bearing,  her  pallid  but 
clear  complexion,  her  cririison,  tightly- 
compressed  lips,  her  great,  fiery  eyes, 
which  spoke  the  scorn  and  contempt 
her  proud  lips  disdained  to  utter,  made 
a  picture  never  to  be  forgotten. 

"Madame,"  said  she,  slowly,  empha- 
sizing every  word,  "  you  have,  indeed, 
driven  me  to  extremity.  It  was  not 
my  intention  to  marry  your  son.  But 
your  conduct  has  now  made  that  a 
point  of  honor.  Now,  madame,  I  will 
graciously  yield  to  the  passionate  en- 
treaties of  your  son,  and  I  will  wed 
him." 

"That  is  to  say,  you  will  force  my 
husband  to  make  use  of  the  power  the 
king  has  given  him  ? " 

Barbarina  shrugged  her  shoulders 
contemptuously.  "Arrest  your  son, 
and  cast  him  into  prison,  you  will 
thereby  add  a  new  celebrity  to  your 
name,  and  quench  the  last  spark  of 
piety  and  obedience  in  his  heart. 
Love  has  wings,  and  will  follow  him 
everywhere,  and  will  waft  him  to  the 
altar,  where  he  will  wed  Barbarina. 
Neither  your  curse,  nor  your  arrest,  nor 
the  will  of  the  king,  will  now  protect 
him.  Before  six  months  are  over,  will 
Barbarina  the  dancer  be  the  wife  of 
Cocceji." 

"  Never,  never  shall  that  be  I  "  cried 
Madame  Cocceji,  trembling  with  rage. 

"That  will  bel"  said  Barbarina, 
emiling     sadly,     and     bending     low. 


"  Ajid  now,  madame,  I  think  you  have 
attained  the  object  of  your  visit,  and 
we  have  nothing  more  to  say  to  each 
other.  It  only  remains  for  me  to  com- 
mend myself  to  your  grace  and  cour- 
tesy, and  to  thank  you  for  the  honor 
of  your  visit.  Allow  me  to  call  my 
servant,  to  conduct  you  to  your  car- 
riage." 

She  rang  and  commanded  the  servant 
to  open  the  folding  doors,  and  carry 
the  large  muff  of  the  countess  to  the 
carriage.  Madame  Cocceji  was  pale 
with  rage.  She  wished  to  remain  in- 
cognito, and  now  her  name  had  been 
called  before  the  servant.  All  Berlin 
would  know  before  night  that  she  had 
visited  Barbarina  ! 

"  Give  me  my  muff,"  she  said,  impa- 
tiently to  the  servant ;  "  it  is  not  neces- 
sary you  should  carry  it.  I  came  on 
foot." 

"  On  foot  ? "  said  Barbarina,  laughing 
merrily.  "  Truly,  you  wished  to  re- 
main incognito,  and  you  would  not 
leave  your  equipage  with  its  coat-of- 
arms,  standing  before  my  door!  I 
thank  you  once  more  for  the  honor  of 
your  visit,  and  commend  myself  to  you 
with  the  glad  wish  that  we  may  meet 
again." 

"  Never  more  ! "  said  Madame  Coc- 
ceji, casting  a  withering  look  upon  the 
gay  dancer,  and  hastening  from  the 
room. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


TOLTALRE. 


YoLTArRE  was  now  a  continuous 
guest  of  King  Frederick.  The  latter 
had  written  a  letter  to  Louis  the  Fif- 
teenth, and  begged  him  to  relinquish 
his  subject  and  historian,  and  this  re- 
quest was  supposed  to  be  acceded  to. 
Besides  this,  the  king,  who  was  evei 
thoughtful  of  the  happiness  and  con) 


268 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


fort  of  his  friends,  had  proposed  to 
Madame  Denis,  Voltaire's  beloved 
niece,  to  follow  her  uncle  to  Berlin, 
dwell  in  the  royal  castle  at  Potsdam, 
and  accept  from  him  an  annuity  of  four 
thousand  francs. 

Voltake  himself  besought  her  to 
come.  He  "wrote  to  her  that,  as  she 
had  lived  contentedly  with  her  husband 
in  Landau,  she  could  surely  be  happy 
in  Berlin  and  Potsdam.  Berlin  was 
certainly  a  much  more  beautiful  city 
than  Landau,  and  at  Potsdam  they 
could  lead  an  agreeable  and  uncere- 
monious life.  "  In  Potsdam  there  are 
no  tumultuous  feasts.  My  soul  rests, 
dreams,  and  works.  I  am  content  to 
find  myself  with  a  king  who  has 
neither  a  court  nor  a  ministry.  Truly, 
Potsdam  is  infested  by  many  whis- 
kered grenadiers,  but,  thank  Heaven,  I 
see  little  of  them.  I  work  peacefully 
in  my  room,  while  the  drums  beat 
without.  I  have  withdrawn  from  the 
dinners  of  the  king;  there  were  too 
many  princes  and  generals  there.  I 
could  not  accustom  myself  to  be  always 
vis-d-vis  with  a  king  and  en  ceremonie. 
But  I  sup  with  him — the  suppei's  are 
shorter,  gayer,  and  healthier.  I  would 
die  with  indigestion  in  three  mouths  if  I 
dined  every  day  in  public  with  a  king."  * 

Madame  Denis,  however,  seemed  to 
doubt  the  happy  life  of  Berlin  and 
Potsdam,  She  wrote,  declining  the 
proposition,  and  expressing  her  fears 
that  Voltaire  would  himself  soon  re- 
pent that  he  had  left  beautiful,  glitter- 
ing Paris,  the  capital  of  luxury  and 
good  taste,  and  taken  refuge  in  a  bar- 
baric land,  to  be  the  slave  of  a  king, 
while,  in  Paris,  he  had  been  the  king 
of  poetry, 

Voltaire  had  the  audacity  to  bring 
this  letter  to  the  king — perhaj^s  to 
wound  him,  perhaps  to  draw  from  him 
further  promises  and  assurances. 

•  (Envrea  Compl^teB,  p,  S60. 


Frederick  read  the  leUei  ;  iiis  brow 
did  not  become  clouded,  and  the 
friendly  smile  did  not  vanish  from  his 
lips.  When  he  had  read  it  to  the  end, 
he  returned  it,  and  his  eyes  met  the 
distrustful,  lowering  glance  of  Voltaire 
with  an  expression  of  such  goodness 
and  candor  that  the  latter  cast  his  eyes 
ashamed  to  the  ground. 

"If  I  were  Madame  Denis,"  said 
Frederick,  "I  would  think  as  she 
does ;  but,  being  myself,  I  view  these 
things  differently.  I  would  be  in  de- 
spair if  I  had  occasioned  the  unhappi- 
ness  of  a  friend ;  and  it  will  not  be 
possible  for  me  to  allow  trouble  or 
sorrow  to  fall  upon  a  man  whom  I  es- 
teem, whom  I  love,  and  who  has  sac- 
rificed for  me  his  fatherland  and  all 
that  men  hold  most  dear.  If  I  could 
believe  that  your  residence  here  could 
be  to  your  disadvantage,  I  would  be  the 
first  to  counsel  you  to  give  it  up,  I  know 
I  would  think  more  of  your  happiness 
than  I  would  of  the  joy  of  having  you 
with  me.  We  are  philosophers.  What 
is  more  natural,  more  simple,  than  that 
two  philosojihers,  who  seem  made  for 
each  other — who  have  the  same  studies, 
the  same  tastes,  the  same  mode  of 
thinking — should  grant  themselves  the 
satisfaction  of  living  together  ?  I  hon- 
or you  as  my  teacher  of  eloquence 
and  poetry;  I  love  you  as  a  virtu- 
ous and  sympathetic  friend.  What  sort 
of  bondage,  what  misfortunes,  what 
changes  have  you  to  fear  in  a  realm 
where  you  are  as  highly  honored  as  in 
your  fatherland — where  you  have  a 
powerful  friend  who  advances  to  meet 
you  with  a  thankful  heart  ?  I  am  not 
so  prejudiced  and  foolish  as  to  consider 
Berlin  as  handsome  as  Paris,  If  good 
taste  has  found  a  home  in  the  world,  I 
confess  it  is  in  Paris,  But  you,  Vol- 
taire, will  you  not  inaugurate  gooO 
taste  wherever  you  are  ?  We  have  or- 
gans sufficiently  develoi^ed  to  applaud 
you ;  and,  as  to  love,  we  will  not  alloT 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


269 


any  other  land  superiority  in  that  re- 
spect. I  yielded  to  the  friendship 
■which  bound  you  to  the  Marquise  du 
Chatelet,  but  I  was,  next  to  her,  your 
oldest  friend.  How,  when  you  have 
sought  an  asylum  in  my  house,  can  it 
ever  be  thought  it  will  become  your 
prison  ?  How,  being  your  friend,  can 
I  ever  become  your  tyrant  ?  I  do  not 
understand  this.  I  am  convinced  that, 
as  long  as  I  live,  you  will  be  happy 
here.  You  will  be  honored  as  thefether 
of  literature,  and  you  will  ever  find  in 
me  that  assistance  and  sympathy  which 
a  man  of  your  worth  has  a  right  to  de- 
mand of  all  who  honor  and  appreciate 
him."  * 

"  Alas !  your  majesty  says  that  you 
honor  me,  but  you  no  longer  say  that 
you  love  me,"  cried  Voltaire,  who  had 
listened  to  this  eloquent  and  heart-felt 
speech  of  the  king  with  eager  impatience 
and  lowering  frowns.  "  Yes,  yes,  I  feel 
it ;  I  know  it  too  well !  Your  majesty 
has  already  limited  me  to  your  consid- 
eration, your  regard ;  but  your  love,  your 
friendship,  these  are  costly  treasures 
from  which  I  have  been  disinherited. 
But  I  know  these  hypocritical  legacy- 
huntere,  who  have  robbed  me  of  that 
most  beautiful  jjortion  of  my  inherit- 
ance. I  know  these  pocr,  beggarly 
cousins,  these  D'Argens,  these  Algarot- 
tis,  these  La  Mettries,  this  vainglorious 
peacock  Maupertius.    I — " 

"Voltaire,"  said  the  king,  interrupt- 
ing mm,  "  you  forget  that  you  speak  of 
my  friends,  and  I  do  not  allow  any  one 
to  speak  evil  of  them.  I  will  never  be 
partial,  never  unjust!  My  heart  is 
capable  of  valuing  and  treasuring  all 
my  friends,  but  my  friends  must  aim  to 
deserve  it;  and  if  I  give  them  my 
Deart,  I  expect  one  in  return." 

"  Friendship  is  a  bill  of  exchange,  by 
which  you  give  just  so  much  as  you  are 
entitled  to  demand  in  return." 

•  The  kinj*B  own  words.— (EuTres  PostLameg. 


"  Give  me,  then,  your  whole  heart, 
Voltaire,  and  I  will  restore  mine  to 
you  !  But  I  fear  you  have  no  longer  a 
heart ;  Nature  gave  you  but  a  small 
dose  of  this  fleeting  essence  called 
love.  She  had  much  to  do  with  your 
brain,  and  worked  at  that  so  long  that 
no  time  remained  to  make  the  heart 
perfect ;  just  as  she  was  about  to  pour 
a  few  drops  of  this  wonderful  love-es- 
sence into  your  heart,  the  cock  crew 
three  times  for  j-our  birth,  and  betrayed 
you  into  the  world.  You  have  long 
since  used  up  the  poor  pair  of  drops 
which  fell  into  your  heart.  Your 
brain  was  armed  for  centuries,  with 
power  to  work,  to  be  useful,  to  rejoice 
the  souls  of  others,  but  I  fear  your  heart  / 
was  exhausted  in  your  youthful  years." 

"  Ah,  I  wish  your  majesty  were  right ! " 
cried  Voltaire ;  "  I  should  not  then  feel 
the  anguish  which  now  martyrs  me,  the 
torture  of  being  misunderstood  by  the 
most  amiable,  the  most  intellectual,  the 
most  exalted  of  monarchs.  Oh,  sire, 
sire !  I  have  a  heart,  and  it  bleeds  be- 
cause you  doubt  of  its  existence  ! " 

"I  would  believe  you  if  you  were  a 
little  less  pathetic,"  said  the  king. 
"  You  not  only  assert,  but  you  declaim. 
There  is  too  little  of  nature  and  truth 
in  your  tone ;  you  remind  me  a  little  of 
the  stilted  French  tragedies,  in  which 
design  and  premeditation  obscure  all 
true  passion ;  in  which  love  is  only  a 
phrase,  that  no  one  believes  in,  dressed 
up  with  the  tawdry  gilding  of  sentiment 
and  pathos." 

"  Your  majesty  will  crush  me  with 
your  scorn  and  mockery  !  "  cried  Vol- 
taire, whose  eyes  now  flamed  with 
auger.  "You  wish  to  make  me  fee? 
how  powerless,  how  pitiful  I  aoa. 
Where  shall  I  find  the  strength  to  strive 
with  you  ?  1  have  won  no  battles.  ] 
have  no  hundred  thousand  men  to  op- 
pose to  you,  and  no  courts-martial  to 
condemn  those  who  sin  against  me ! " 

"  It  is  tiue  you  have  not  a  hundreiJ 


no 


BERLIN  AND  SAXS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


thousaud  soldiers,"  said  the  king,  "  but 
you  have  four-and-twenty,  and  "with 
these  four-and-twenty  soldiers  you  have 
conquered  the  whole  realm  of  spirits ; 
•with  this  little  army  you  have  brought 
the  whole  of  educated  Europe  to  your 
feet.  You  are,  therefore,  a  much  more 
powerful  king  than  I  am.  I  have,  it  is 
true,  a  hundred  thousand  men,  but  I 
dare  not  say  that  they  will  not  run  when 
it  comes  to  the  first  battle.  You,  Vol- 
taire, have  your  four-and-twenty  soldiers 
of  the  alphabet,  and  so  well  have  you 
exercised  them,  that  you  must  win 
every  battle,  even  if  all  the  kings  of  the 
earth  were  allied  against  you.  Let  us 
make  peace,  then,  my  '  invincible  ! '  do 
not  turn  this  terrible  army  of  the  four- 
and-twenty,  with  their  deadly  weapons, 
against  me,  but  graciously  allow  me  to 
seize  upon  the  hem  of  your  purple  robe, 
to  sun  myself  in  your  dazzling  rays,  to 
be  your  humble  scholar,  and  from  you 
and  your  army  of  heroes  to  learn  tbe 
secret  art  of  winning  battles  with  invis- 
ible troops ! " 

"Your  majesty  malses  me  feel  more 
and  more  how  poor  I  am ;  even  my 
four-and-twenty,  of  whom  you  speak, 
have  gone  over  to  you,  and  you  under- 
stand, as  well  as  I  do,  how  to  exercise 
them." 

"  No,  no  ! "  said  Frederick,  changing 
suddenly  his  jesting  tone  for  one  of 
grave  earnestness.  "No,  I  will  learn 
of  you.  I  am  not  satisfied  to  be  a  poor- 
souled  dilettante  in  poetry,  though  as- 
sured I  can  never  be  a  Virgil  or  a  Vol- 
taire. I  know  that  the  study  of  poetry 
demands  the  life,  the  undivided  heart 
and  mind.  I  am  but  a  poor  galley- 
slave,  cLained  to  the  ship  of  state  ;  or, 
if  you  will,  a  pilot,  who  does  not  dare 
to  leave  the  rudder,  or  even  to  sleep, 
lest  the  fate  of  the  unhappy  Palinurus 
might  overtake  him.  The  Muses  de- 
mand solitude  and  rest  for  the  soul,  and 
that  I  can  never  consecrate  to  them. 
Often,  when  I  have  written  three  verses, 


I  am  interrupted,  my  muse  is  chilled., 
and  my  spirit  cannot  rise  again  into  the 
heights  of  inspiration.  I  know  there 
are  privileged  souls,  who  can  make 
verses  everywhere — in  the  tumult  of 
court  life,  in  the  loneliness  of  Cirey,  in 
the  prisons  of  the  Bastile,  and  in  the 
stage-coach.  My  poor  soul  does  not  en- 
joy this  freedom.  It  resembles  an 
anana,  which  bears  fruit  only  in  the 
green-house,  but  fades  and  withers  in 
the  fresh  air."  * 

"  Ah !  this  is  the  first  time  I  have  caught 
the  Solomon  of  the  North  in  an  un- 
truth," cried  Voltake,  eagerly.  "  Your 
soul  is  not  like  the  anana,  but  like  that 
wondrous  southern  tree  which  gener- 
ously bears  at  the  same  time  fi-uits  and 
flowers ;  which  inspires  and  sweetly  in- 
toxicates us  with  its  fragrance,  and  at 
the  same  time  strengthens  and  refreshes 
us  by  its  celestial  fruits.  You,  sire,  are 
not  the  pupil  of  Apollo,  you  are  Apollo 
himself ! " 

The  king  smiled,  and  raising  his  arms 
to  heaven,  he  exclaimed,  with  the  mock 
pathos  of  a  French  tragedian : 

"  0  DienI  qui  douez  les  pontes 
De  tant  de  sublime  favours ; 
Ah,  rendcz  vos  graces  paifaitns, 
Et  qu'ils  soient  un  peu  moins  menteurs ! " 

"  In  trying  to  jjunish  me  for  what 
you  are  pleased  to  call  my  falsehood,  your 
majesty  proves  that  I  have  spoken  the 
truth,"  cried  Voltaire,  eagerly.  "  You 
wish  to  show  me  that  the  fruit  of  your 
muse  rii^ens  slowly,  and  you  improvise 
a  charming  quatrain  that  Molifere  him- 
self would  be  proud  to  have  composed." 

"  Eendez  vos  graces  parfaitcg, 

Et  qu'ils  soient  un  peu  ruoins  menteurs  1 " 

repeated  Frederick,  nodding  merrily  to 
Voltaire.  "  Look  you,  friend,  I  am 
perhaps  that  mortal  who  incommodes 
the  gods  least  with  prayers  and  peti- 
tions.   My  first  prayer  to-day  was  foi 

*  The  kJog's  own  words.— CEuvres  rcstUn«aea. 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT   AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


271 


you  ;  show,  therefore,  a  little  gratitude, 
and  prove  to  me  that  the  gods  hear  the 
earnest  prayers  of  the  faithful.  Be  less 
of  a  flatterer,  and  speak  the  simple 
truth.  I  desire  now  to  look  over  with 
you  my  compositions  of  the  last  few 
days.  I  wish  you,  however,  always  to 
remember  that  when  you  write,  you  do 
so  to  add  to  the  fame  of  your  nation 
and  to  the  honor  of  your  fatherland. 
For  myself,  I  scribble  for  my  amuse- 
ment ;  and  I  could  easily  be  pardoned. 
If  I  were  wise  enough  to  bum  my  work 
as  soon  as  it  was  finished.*  "WTien  a 
man  approaches  his  fortieth  year  and 
makes  bad  verses  as  I  do,  one  might  say, 
with  MoliSre's  '  Misanthrope  ' — 

SI  j'en  (atsais  d'aaesl  m^chants, 

Je  me  garderais  bien  dc  lea  montrer  aox  gens.' " 

"Tour  majesty  considers  yourself  al- 
ready too  old  to  make  verses,  and  you 
are  scarcely  thirty-eight :  am  I  not  then 
a  fool,  worthy  of  condemnation,  for  dar- 
ing to  do  homage  to  the  Muses  and 
striving  to  make  verses — I,  the  gray- 
haired  old  man  who  already  counts 
fifty-six?" 

"  You  have  the  privilege  of  the  gods ! 
you  will  never  grow  old ;  and  the  Muses 
and  Graces,  though  women,  must  ever 
remain  faithful  to  you — you  understand 
how  to  lay  new  chains  upon  them." 

"  No,  no,  sire  !  I  am  too  old,"  sighed 
Voltaire ;  "  an  old  poet,  an  old  lover,  an 
old  singer,  and  an  old  ht^rse,  are  alike 
useless  things  —  good  for  nothing,  t 
Well,  your  majesty  can  make  me  a  little 
younger  by  reading  me  some  of  your 
verses." 

Frederick  stepped  to  his  writing- 
desk,  and,  seating  himself,  nodded  to 
Voltaire  to  be  seated  also. 

''You  must  know,"  said  the  king, 
banding  Voltaire  a  sheet  of  paper  cov- 
ered with  verses — "  you  must  know  that 

»  Oiuvres  Posthnmes. 

t  Voltaire'3  own  words.— <Earrea  PosthiuBea,  p. 
S61. 


I  have  come  with  six  twin  brothers,  who 
desire  in  the  name  of  Apollo  to  be 
baptized  in  the  waters  of  Hippocrene, 
and  the  '  Hennade '  is  entreated  to  be 
godfather." 

Voltaire  took  the  paper  and  read  the 
verses  aloud.  The  king  listened  at- 
tentively, and  nodded  approvingly  over 
Voltaire's  glowing  and  passionate  dec- 
lamation. 

"  This  is  grand  !  this  is  sublime ! " 
exclaimed  Voltaire.  "  Your  majesty  is  a 
French  writer,  who  lives  hy  accident  in 
Germany.  You  have  our  language 
wholly  in  your  power." 

Frederick  raised  his  finger  threaten- 
ingly. "  Friend,  friend,  shall  I  weary 
the  gods  again  with  my  jjrayer  ? " 

"  Your  majesty,  then,  wishes  to  hear 
the  whole  truth  ?  " 

"  The  whole  truth  ! " 

"Then  you  must  allow  me,  sire,  to 
read  the  verses  once  more.  I  read  them 
the  first  time  as  an  amateur,  now  I  will 
read  them  as  a  critia" 

As  Voltaire  now  repeated  the  verses, 
he  laid  a  sharp  accent  upon  every  word 
and  every  imperfect  rhyme ;  scanned 
every  line  with  stem  precision.  Some- 
tinges  when  he  came  to  a  false  Alexan- 
drine, he  gave  himself  the  appearance  of 
being  absolutely  unable  to  force  his  lips 
to  utter  such  barbarisms ;  and  then  his 
eyes  glowed  with  malicious  fire,  and  a 
contemptuous  smile  played  about  his 
mouth. 

The  king's  brow  clouded.  "  I  under- 
stand," said  he,  "  the  poem  is  utterly 
unworthy — good  for  nothing.  Let  us 
destroy  it." 

"  Not  so,  sire — the  poem  is  excellent, 
and  it  requires  but  a  few  days'  study 
to  make  it  perfect.  On  the  Venus  di 
Medici  no  finger  must  be  too  long,  no 
nail  badly  formed;  and  what  are  such 
statues,  with  which  we  deck  our  gar- 
dens, to  the  monuments  of  the  library  ? 
"We  must,  therefore,  make  your  work 
perfect.    There  is  infinite  grace  and  in 


272 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


tellect  in  this  little  poem.  Wliere  have 
you  found  such  treasures,  sire  ?  How 
can  your  sandy  soil  yield  such  blossoms  ? 
How  can  such  charming  grace  and  pro- 
found learning  be  combined  ?  *  But 
even  the  Graces  must  stand  upon  a  sure 
footing,  and  here,  sire,  are  a  few  feet 
which  are  too  long.  Truly,  that  is 
sometimes  important,  but  the  work  of 
a  distinguished  genius  should  he  per- 
fect. You  work  too  rashly,  sire — it  is 
sometimes  more  easy  to  win  a  battle 
than  to  make  a  good  poem.  Your  ma- 
jesty loves  the  truth  so  well,  that  by 
speaking  the  truth  in  all  sincerity  I 
shall  best  prove  to  you  my  most  pro- 
found reverence.  All  that  you  do  must 
be  perfectly  done ;  you  are  fully  en- 
dowed with  the  ability  necessary.  No 
one  must  say,  '  Ccesar  est  supra  gram- 
maticum.''  Cajsar  wrote  as  he  fought, 
and  was  in  both  victorious.  Frederick 
the  Great  plays  the  flute  like  Blavet, 
why  should  he  not  also  write  like  the 
greatest  of  poets  ?  t  But  your  majesty 
must  not  disdain  to  give  to  the  beauti- 
ful sentiment,  the  grtat  thought,  a  love- 
ly and  attractive  form." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right !  "  said  Freder- 
ick ;  "  I  fail  in  that,  but  you  must  not 
think  it  is  from  carelessness.  Those  of 
my  verses  which  you  have  least  criti- 
cised are  exactly  those  which  have  cost 
me  the  least  effort.  When  the  senti- 
ment and  the  rhyme  come  in  competi- 
tion, I  make  bad  verses,  and  am  not 
happy  in  my  corrections.  You  cannot 
comprehend  the  difficulties  I  have  to 
overcome  in  making  a  few  tolerable 
verses.  A  happy  combination  by  nature, 
an  irrepressible  and  fruitful  intellect, 
made  you  a  great  poet  without  any 
effort  of  your  own.  I  feel  and  acknowl- 
edge the  inferiority  of  my  talent.  I 
swim  about  in  the  ocean  of  poetry  with 
my  life-preserver  under  my  arm.     I  do 

♦  Voltaire's  own  words— CEuvres  Posthumes,  p. 
829. 
t  Ibid.,  p.  888. 


not  write  as  well  as  I  think.  Mj  ideas 
are  stronger  than  my  expressions  ;  and 
in  this  embarrassment,  I  am  often  con- 
tent if  my  verses  are  as  little  indifferent 
as  possible,  and  do  not  expect  them  to 
be  good."  * 

"  It  is  entirely  in  your  majesty's  joower 
to  make  them  perfect.  With  you,  sire, 
it  is  as  with  the  gods — '  I  wnll ! '  and  it 
is  done.  If  your  majesty  will  condescend 
to  adorn  the  Graces  and  sylphs,  the 
sages  and  scholars,  who  stumble  about 
in  this  sublime  poem  with  somewhat 
rugged  feet,  with  artistic  limbs,  they 
would  flutter  about  like  graceful  genii, 
and  step  wdf.h  majesty  like  the  three 
kings  of  the  East.  Now  let  us  try — we 
will  write  this  poem  again." 

He  made  a  long  mark  with  a  pen 
over  the  manuscript  of  the  king,  took 
a  new  sheet  of  paper,  and  commenced 
to  WTite  the  first  lines.  He  criticised 
every  word  wnth  bitter  humor,  with 
flashing  wit,  with  mocking  irony.  In- 
exorable in  his  censure,  indifferent  in 
his  praise,  his  tongue  seemed  to  be 
armed  with  arrows,  every  one  of  which 
was  intended  to  strike  and  wound. 

The  face  of  Frederick  remained  calm 
and  clear.  He  did  not  feel  that  he  was 
a  mighty  king  and  ruler,  injured  by  the 
fault-finding  of  a  common  man.  Pit 
was  the  pupil,  with  his  accomplished 
teacher;  and  as  he  really  wished  to 
learn,  he  was  indifferent  as  to  the  mode 
by  which  his  stern  master  would  in- 
struct him. 

After  this  they  read  together  a  chap 
ter  from  the  king's  '^  Ilistoire  de  Mon 
Tempsy  A  second  edition  was  about 
to  appear,  and  Voltaire  had  undertaken 
to  correct  it.  He  brought  his  copy 
with  him,  in  order  to  give  Frederick 
an  account  of  his  corrections. 

"  This  book  will  be  a  masterwork,  if 
your  majesty  will  only  take  the  pains 
to  correct  it  properly.      But  has  a  kitg 

»  The  king's  own  words,  p.  346. 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


27S 


the  time  and  patience? — a  king  -who 
governs  his  whole  kingdom  alone  ? 
Yes,  it  is  this  thought  which  confounds 
me  !  I  cannot  recover  from  my  aston- 
ishment ;  it  is  this  which  makes  me  so 
stem  in  my  judgment  of  your  writings. 
I  consider  it  a  holy  duty." 

"And  I  am  glad  you  are  harsh  and 
independent,"  said  the  king,  "  I  learn 
more  from  ten  stern  and  critical  words, 
than  from  a  lengthy  speech  full  of  praise 
and  acknowledgment!  But  tell  me, 
now,  what  means  this  red  mark,  with 
which  you  have  covered  one  whole  side 
of  my  manuscript  ? " 

"Sire,  this  red  mark  asks  for  con- 
sideration for  your  grandfather,  King 
Frederick  the  First;  you  have  been 
harsh  and  cruel  with  him ! " 

"  I  dared  not  be  otherwise,  unless  I 
would  earn  for  myself  the  charge  of 
partiality,"  said  the  king.  "  It  shall 
not  be  said  that  I  closed  my  eyes  to  his 
foolishness  and  absurdity  because  he 
was  my  grandfather.  Frederick  the 
First  was  a  vain  and  pompous  fool ; 
this  is  the  truth  !  " 

"  And  yet  I  entreat  your  grace  for 
him,  sire.  I  love  this  king  because  of 
his  royal  pomp,  and  the  beautiful  mon- 
ument which  he  left  behind  him." 

"  "Well,  that  was  vanity,  that  pos- 
terity might  speak  of  him.  From  van- 
ity he  protected  the  arts ;  from  vanity 
and  foolish  pride  he  placed  the  crown 
upon  his  head.  His  wife,  the  great  So- 
phia Charlotte,  was  right  when  she 
said  of  him  on  her  death-bed :  '  The 
king  will  not  have  time  to  mourn  for 
me ;  the  interest  he  will  take  in  solem- 
nizing my  funeral  with  pomp  and  regal 
Epiendor  will  dissipate  his  grief;  and 
if  nothing  is  wanting,  nothing  fails  in 
the  august  and  beautiful  ceremony,  he 
will  be  entirely  comforted.'  *  He  was 
only  great  in  little  things,  and  there- 
fore  when  Sophia  Charlotte  received 

•  ThiSbaniL 
18 


from  her  friend  Leibnitz  his  memoir 
'  On  the  Power  of  Small  Things,'  she 
said,  smiling :  *  Leibnitz  will  teach  me 
to  know  small  things ;  has  he  forgotten 
that  I  am  the  wife  of  Frederick  the 
First,  or  does  he  think  that  I  do  not 
know  my  husband  ? '  "  * 

"  Well,  I  pray  for  grace  for  the  hus 
band  on  his  wife's  account.  Sophia 
Charlotte  was  an  exalted  and  genial 
woman;  you  should  forgive  her  hus- 
band all  other  things,  because  he  waa 
wise  enough  to  make  her  his  wife  and 
your  grandmother !  And  if  your  majes- 
ty reproaches  hmi  for  the  vanity  of 
making  himself  king,  that  is  a  vanity 
from  which  his  descendants  have  ob- 
tained some  right  solid  advantages." 

"  The  title  appears  to  me  not  in  the 
least  disagreeable !  The  title  is  beau- 
tiful, when  given  by  a  free  people, 
or  earned  by  a  prince.  Frederick  the 
First  had  done  nothing  to  stamp  him  a 
king,  and  that  condemns  him." 

"  So  let  it  be,"  said  Voltaire,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders,  "  he  is  your  grand- 
father, not  mine.  Do  with  him  as  yon 
think  best,  sire ;  I  have  nothing  more 
to  say,  and  will  content  myself  with 
softening  a  few  phrases."  t 

When  he  saw  that  Frederick's  brow 
clouded  at  these  words,  he  said,  with  a 
sly  laugh  :  "  Look  you,  how  the  office 
of  a  teacher,  which  your  majesty  forced 
upon  me,  makes  me  insolent  and 
haughty !  I,  who  would  do  well  to 
correct  my  own  works,  undertake  to 
improve  the  writings  of  a  king.  I  re- 
mind myself  of  the  Abbot  von  Milliers. 
who  has  written  a  book  called  '  Reflec- 
tions on  the  Faults  of  Others.'  On 
one  occasion  he  went  to  hear  a  sermon 
of  a  Capuchin.  The  monk  addressed 
his  audience,  in  a  nasal  voice,  in  the 
following  manner :  '  My  dear  brothers 

*  Thi6bault 

t  This  conversation  of  the  king  and  Voltaire  la 
historic.  Voltaire  tells  it  in  a  letter  to  Madamf 
Denis. 


Hi 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


in  the  Lord,  I  had  mtended  to-day  to 
discourse  upon  hell,  but  at  the  door  of 
the  church  I  have  read  a  bill  jjosted 
up,  "  Reflections  on  the  Faults  of 
Others."  "  Ha  !  my  friend,"  thought 
I,  "  why  have  you  not  rather  made  re- 
flections over  your  own  faults  ?  "  I 
•will  therefore  speak  to  you  of  the 
pride  and  arrogance  of  men  ! '  " 

"  Well,  make  such  reflections  always 
when  occupied  with  the  History  of 
Louis  the  Fifteenth,"  said  the  king, 
laughing ;  "  only,  I  beseech  you,  when 
you  are  with  me,  not  to  be  converted 
by  the  pious  Capuchin,  but  make  your 
reflections  on  the  faults  of  others 
only." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  DAY  IN   THE   LIFE   OF  VOLTAIEE. 

VoLTAiKE  enjoyed  the  rare  privilege 
of  speaking  the  truth  to  the  king,  and 
he  made  a  cruel  and  bitter  use  of  his 
opportunities  in  this  respect.  He  was 
jealous  and  envious  of  the  king's  fame 
and  greatness,  and  sought  to  revenge 
himself  by  continual  fault-finding  and 
criticism.  He  sought  to  mortify  the 
great  Frederick,  who  was  admired  and 
wondered  at  by  all  the  world ;  to 
make  him  feel  and  confess  that  he 
could  never  equal  the  renowned  writer 
Voltaire. 

Frederick  felt  and  acknowledged 
this  frankly  and  without  shame,  but 
•vyith  that  smiling  composure  and  great 
self-consciousness  which  is  ever  ready 
to  do  justice  to  others,  and  demands  at 
the  same  time  a  just  recognition  of  its 
own  claims.  Voltaire  might  exalt  him- 
self to  the  clouds,  he  could  not  depre- 
ciate the  king.  He  often  made  him 
angry,  however,  and  this  gratified  the 
malice  of  the  great  French  author. 

The  other  friends  of  Frederick  looked 


upon  this  conduct  of  Voltaire  with  re- 
gret ;  and  the  Marquis  d'Argens,  who 
was  of  a  fine  and  gentle  nature,  soon 
saw  the  daily  discontent  of  the  king, 
and  the  wicked  joy  of  Voltaire. 

"My  friend,"  said  he,  "the  king 
wrote  a  poem  yesterday,  which  he  read 
aloud  to  me  this  morning.  He  declares 
that  there  is  one  bad  rhyme  in  his 
poem,  and  that  it  tortures  hira.  I 
tried  in  vain  to  reassure  him.  I  know 
that  the  rhyme  is  incorrect,  but  you 
will  provoke  him  beyond  measure  if 
you  tell  him  so.  He  has  tried  in  vain 
to  correct  it,  Avithout  impairing  the 
sense  of  the  passage.  I  have,  therefore, 
withheld  all  criticism,  and  read  to  him 
some  verses  from  La  Fontaine,  where 
the  same  fault  is  to  be  found.  I  have 
wished  to  convince  him  that  the  poem  is 
worthy  of  praise,  although  not  exactly 
conformed  to  rule.  I  beg  of  you,  Vol- 
taire, to  follow  my  example." 

"  And  why  should  I  do  that  ?  "  said 
Voltaire,  in  his  most  snarling  tone. 

"  Because,  with  your  severe  and  con- 
tinual criticisms  you  will  disgust  the 
king,  and  turn  him  aside  from  his  fa- 
vorite pursuit.  I  think  it  important  to 
poetry  and  the  fine  arts  that  the  great 
and  powerful  sovereign  of  Prussia 
should  love  and  cherish  them  ;  should 
exalt  those  who  cultivate  them,  and, 
indeed,  rank  himself  amongst  them. 
What  difference  does  it  make,  Voltaire, 
if  a  bad  rhj'me  is  to  be  found  in  the 
poetry  of  the  philosopher  of  Sans- 
Souci  ? "  * 

"  The  king  wishes  to  learn  of  me  how 
to  make  good  poetry,  and  my  love  to 
him  is  not  of  that  treasonable,  womanly, 
and  cowardly  sort  which  shrinks  from 
blaming  him  because  it  fears  to  wound 
his  self-love.  The  king  has  read  his 
poem  to  you,  and  it  is  your  province  to 
wonder  at  and  praise  your  friend.  He 
will  read  it  to  me  as  '  Pedagogo  de  sua 

•  Thiibaolt,  ToL  r.,  p.  KZ. 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


275 


Wacstd.^  I  will  be  true  and  just,  where 
you  have  dared  to  jSatter  him." 

Never  was  Voltaire  more  severe  in 
his  criticism,  more  cutting  in  his  satire, 
than  to-day.  His  eyes  sparkled  with 
malicious  joy,  and  a  wicked  smile 
played  still  upon  his  lip  as  he  left  the 
king  and  returned  to  his  own  apart- 
ment. 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  seating  himself  at  his 
writing-table,  with  a  loud  laugh,  "I 
^hall  write  well  to-day,  for  I  have  had 
a  lesson.  Frederick  does  not  know 
how  far  he  is  my  benefactor.  In  cor- 
recting him,  I  correct  myself;  and  in 
directing  his  studies,  I  gain  strength 
and  judgment  for  my  own  works.*  I 
will  now  write  a  chapter  in  my  History 
of  Louis  XIV.  My  style  will  be  good. 
The  chapter  which  I  have  read  this 
morning,  in  Frederick's  ^  Hist  aire  de 
Mon  Temps,''  has  taught  me  what 
faults  to  avoid.  Yes,  I  will  write  of 
Louis  XIV.  Truly  I  owe  him  some 
compcnsati(m.  King  Frederick  has 
had  the  naivete  to  compare  his  great- 
grandfather, the  so-called  Prince-Elec- 
tor, to  the  great  Louis.  I  was  amiable 
enough  to  pardi)n  him  for  this  little 
compliment  to  his  ancestors,  and  not  to 
strike  it  from  his  '  Histoire.''  And,  in- 
deed, why  should  I  have  done  that  ? 
The  world  will  not  be  so  foolish  as  to 
charge  this  amusing  weakness  to  me ! 
After  all,  the  king  writes  but  for  him- 
self and  a  few  false,  flattering  friends; 
he  can,  therefore,  say  what  he  wnll.  I, 
however,  I  write  for  France — for  the 
world  !  But  I  fear,  alas,  that  fools  will 
condemn  me  because  I  have  sought  to 
write  as  a  wise  man."  t 

Voltaire  commenced  to  write,  but  he 
was  soon  interrupted  by  his  servant, 
Tripot,  who  announced  that  the  Jew 
Hirsch,  for  whom  Voltaire  had  sent, 
was  at  the  door.  Voltaire  rose  hastily, 
and  called  him  to  enter. 


*  Voltaire's  own  words. — (Euvres,  p. 
+  (Euvrea,  p.  841. 


"I  have  business  with  yot,  my 
friend,"  said  he  to  the  Jew.  "  Close 
the  door,  Tripot,  and  see  that  we  are 
not  disturbed." 

Voltaire  hastened  with  youthful  agil- 
ity through  the  saloon,  and  beckoned 
to  the  Jew  to  follow  him  into  his  bed- 
room. 

"  First  of  all,  friend,  we  will  make  a 
small  mercantile  operation."  So  say- 
ing, he  opened  the  door  of  a  large 
commode.  "  See,  here  are  twelve  pounds 
of  the  purest  wax-lights.  I  am  a  poor 
man,  with  weak  eyes.  I  have  uo  use 
for  these  lights;  I  can  never  hope  to 
profit  by  them.  Here,  also,  are  several 
pounds  of  sugar  and  coffee,  the  savings 
of  the  last  two  months.  You  will  buy 
all  this  of  me ;  we  will  agree  upon  a 
fixed  price,  and  the  last  day  of  every 
month  you  will  come  for  the  same  pur- 
pose.    Name  your  price,  sir." 

Hirsch  named  his  price ;  but  it 
seemed  that  the  great  poet  understood 
how  to  bargain  better  than  the  Jew. 
He  knew  exactly  the  worth  of  the 
sugar  and  the  coffee,  he  spoke  so  elo- 
quently of  the  beauty  and  purity  of  the 
thick  white  wax -lights,  that  the  He- 
brew increased  his  offer. 

"And  now  to  more  important  busi- 
ness," said  Voltaire.  "  You  are  going 
to  Dresden — you  wiU  there  execute  a 
commission  for  me.  I  wish  to  invest 
eighteen  thousand  thalers  in  Saxon 
bonds.  They  can  now  be  purchased  at 
thirty-five,  and  will  be  redeemed  at  a 
hundred." 

"  But  your  excellency  knows  that  the 
king  has  forbidden  his  subjects  to  buy 
these  bonds.  He  demanded  and  ob- 
tained for  his  subjects  a  pledge  that 
they  should  be  paid  at  par  for  the 
bonds  they  now  hold,  while  the  sub- 
jects of  the  King  of  Saxony  receive 
only  their  present  value.  The  king 
promised,  however,  that  the  Prussians 
should  make  no  further  investments  in 
these  bonds.     You  see,  then,  that  it  i«« 


276 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


impossible  for  me  to  fulfil  this  commis- 
Bion." 

"I  see  that  you  are  a  fool !  "  cried 
Voltaire,  angrily.  "  If  you  were  not  a 
fool,  you  ■would  know  that  "Voltaire,  tlie 
cliamberlain  of  the  king,  would  not 
undertake  a  business  transaction  which 
would  stain  his  reputation  or  cast  a 
shadow  on  his  name.  "When  Voltaire 
makes  this  investment,  you  can  un- 
derstand that  he  is  authorized  to  do 
so." 

"  That  being  the  case,"  said  Hirsch, 
humbly,  "  I  am  entirely  satisfied,  and 
will  gladly  serve  your  excellency." 

"If  you  will  fill  this  commission 
handsomely  and  promptly,  you  may 
feel  assured  of  a  reward.  Are  you 
ambitious  ?  "Would  you  not  like  a  ti- 
tle ?  " 

''  Certainly  I  am  ambitious.  I  should 
be  truly  happy  if  I  could  obtain  the  ti- 
tle of  '  royal  court  agent.' " 

"■Well,  buy  these  bonds  for  me  in 
Dresden  cheap,  and  you  shall  have  this 
coveted  title,"  said  the  noble  author  of 
the  '■'■  Ilenriade,^''  and  other  world-re- 
nowned works. 

"  I  will  buy  them  at  thirty-five  tha- 
lers," 

"  And  you  will  invest  eighteen  thou- 
sand thalers  at  this  rate.  Our  contract 
is  made  ;  now  we  will  count  the  gold. 
I  have  not  the  ready  money — I  will 
give  you  drafts — come  into  my  study. — 
There  are  three  drafts," said  he,  "one 
on  Paris,  one  on  your  father,  and  one 
on  the  Jew  Ephraim.  Get  them  cashed, 
good  Hirsch,  and  bring  me  my  Saxon 
bonds." 

"In  eight  days,  your  excellency,  I 
will  return  with  them,  and  you  will 
have  a  clear  profit  of  eleven  thousand 
thalers." 

Voltaire's  eyes  sparkled  with  joy. 
"Eleven  thousand  thalers !  "  said  he, 
"  for  a  poor  poet,  who  lives  by  his  wits 
and  his  pen,  that    is   a  considerable 


"You  will  realize  that  sum,"  said 
Hirsch,  with  the  solemn  earnestness  of 
a  Jew  when  he  lias  made  a  good  trade. 

Ilii'sch  was  about  to  withdraw,  but 
Voltaire  hastened  after  him,  and  seizing 
his  arm,  he  cried  out  threateningly : 
"  You  are  not  going  without  giving  me 
your  note  ?  You  do  not  think  that  I 
am  such  a  fool  as  to  give  you  eighteen 
thousand  thalers,  and  have  nothing  to 
prove  it  ? " 

"Your  excellency  has  my  word  of 
honor,"  said  the  Jew,  earnestly. 

Voltaire  laughed  aloud.  "  Your 
word  !  the  honorable  word  of  a  man 
for  eighteen  thousand  thalers !  My 
dear  friend,  we  do  not  live  in  paradise, 
but  in  a  so-called  Christian  city — your 
worthy  forefathers  obtained  for  us  this 
privilege.  Do  you  believe  that  I  will 
trust  one  of  their  descendants  ?  Who 
will  go  my  security  that  you  will  not 
nail  my  innocence  and  my  confiding 
heart  upon  the  cross,  and  slay  theni  if 
I  should  be  unsuspicious  enough  to 
trust  my  money  with  you  in  this  simple 


way 


1" 


"I  will  give  you  ample  security," 
said  Hirsch,  taking  a  morocco  case 
from  his  pocket.  "  I  did  not  know 
why  your  excellency  sent  for  me.  I 
thought  perhaps  you  wished  to  buy 
diamonds,  and  brought  some  along 
with  me.  Look,  sir !  here  are  diamonds 
worth  twenty-two  thousand  thalers  !  I 
will  leave  them  with  you — I,  the  poor 
Jew,  do  not  fear  that  the  great  poet 
Voltaire  will  deceive  and  betray  me." 

"These  diamonds  are  beautiful,"  said 
Voltaire — "  very  beautiful,  and  perhaps 
if  my  sjjeculation  succeeds,  I  may  buy 
some  from  you.  Until  then,  I  -will 
take  care  of  them." 

Voltaire  was  about  to  lock  them  up, 
but  he  jjaused  suddenly,  and  fixed  his 
eyes  upon  the  calm  countenance  of  the 
Jew. 

"  How  do  I  know  that  these  are  real 
diamonds  ?  "  he  cried ;  and  as  Hirsch 


FREDEIIICK   THE   GREAT  AND    BIS  FRIENDS. 


Ill 


exasperated  by  this  base  suspicion, 
frowned,  and  turned  pale,  lie  exclaimed 
fiercely :  "  The  diamonds  are  false  !  I 
know  it  by  your  terror,  Ob,  oh,  you 
thought  that  a  poet  was  a  good,  credu- 
lous creature  who  could  be  easily  de- 
ceived. Ah  !  you  thought  I  had  heard 
nothing  of  those  famous  lajjidaries  in 
St.  Germain,  who  cut  diamonds  from 
glass,  and  cook  up  in  their  laboratories 
the  rarest  jewels  I  Yes,  yes,  I  know 
all  these  arts,  and  all  the  brewing  of  St. 
Germain  will  not  suffice  to  deceive  me." 

"  These  diamonds  are  pure  !  "  cried 
Hirsch, 

"We  will  have  them  tested  by  a 
Christian  jeweller,"  said  "Voltaire. — 
"  Tripot !  Tripot !  run  quickly  to  the 
jeweller  Reel  am — beg  him  to  come  to 
oae  for  a  few  moments." 

Tripot  soon  returned  with  Reclam. 
The  diamonds  were  pronounced  pure 
and  of  the  first  water  ;  and  the  jeweller 
declared  they  were  fully  worth  twenty- 
two  thousand  thalers.  Voltaire  was 
now  fully  satisfied,  and,  when  once 
more  alone,  he  looked  long  and  raptur- 
ously upon  these  glittering  stones. 

"  What  woman  can  boast  of  such  daz- 
zling fire  in  her  eyes  ? "  said  he,  laugh- 
ing ;  "  what  woman  can  say  that  their 
color  is  worth  twenty-two  thousand 
thalers?  It  is  true  they  glisten  and 
shimmer  in  all  lights  and  shades — that 
is  their  weakness  and  their  folly.  With' 
you,  beautiful  gems !  these  changing 
hues  are  a  virtue.  Oh,  to  think  that 
with  this  handful  of  flashing  stones  I 
could  buy  a  bag  of  ducats!  How  dull 
and  stupid  are  mankind — how  wise  is 
God  1  Sinking  those  diamonds  in  the 
bowels  of  the  earth  was  a  good  spec- 
ulation. They  are  truffles  to  tempt  the 
snouts  of  men ;  and  they  root  after  them 
as  zealously  as  the  swine  in  Perigord 
root  after  the  true  truffles.  Gold  I  gold  ! 
that  is  the  magic  word  with  which  the 
world  is  ruled.  I  will  have  gold — I 
will  rule  the  world.    I  will  not  give 


place  to  dukes  or  princes.  I  will  have 
ray  seigneuries  and  my  castles ;  my 
servants  in  rich  livery,  and  my  obedient 
subjects.  I  will  be  a  grand  seigneur. 
Kings  and  princes  shall  visit  me  in  my 
castle,  and  wait  in  my  antechamber,  as 
I  have  been  compelled  to  wait  in  theirs. 
1  will  be  rich  that  I  may  be  every  man's 
master,  even  master  of  the  fools.  I  will 
enslave  the  wise  by  my  intellect — I  will 
reduce  the  foolish  to  bondage  with  gold. 
I  must  be  rich  !  rich  !  rich  !  therefore 
am  I  here ;  therefore  do  I  correct  the 
poor  rhymes  of  the  king  ;  therefore  do 
I  live  now  as  a  modest  poet,  and  add 
copper  to  copper,  and  save  my  pension 
of  five  thousand  thalers,  and  sell  my 
wax-lights  and  my  cotfee  to  the  Jew. 
Let  the  world  call  me  a  miser.  When 
I  become  rich,  I  will  be  a  spendthrift ; 
and  men  who  are  now  envious  and 
angry  at  my  fame  shall  burst  with  rage 
at  my  fortune.  Ah,  ah,  it  is  not  worth 
the  cost  to  be  a  celebrated  writer ! 
There  are  too  many  humiliations  con- 
nected with  this  doubtful  social  position. 
It  gives  no  rank — it  is  a  pitiful  thing 
in  the  eyes  of  those  who  have  actual 
standing,  and  is  only  envied  by  those 
who  are  unnoticed  and  unknown.  For 
my  own  j)art,  I  am  so  exhausted  by  the 
discomforts  of  my  position,  I  would 
gladly  cast  it  from  me,  and  make  for 
myself  what  the  canaille  call  a  good 
thing — an  enormous  fortune,  I  will 
scrape  together  all  the  gold  that  is  pos- 
sible. I  will  give  for  gold  all  the  honor 
and  freedom  and  fame  which  come  to 
me.  I  am  a  rich  gainer  in  all  these 
things  by  my  residence  with  King 
Frederick,  He  has  this  virtue :  he  is 
unprejudiced,  and  cares  nothing  even 
for  his  own  royal  rank.  I  will  therefore 
remain  in  tliis  haven,  whither  the  storms, 
which  have  so  long  driven  me  from 
shore  to  shore,  have  now  safely  moored 
me.  My  happiness  will  last  j ust  as  long 
as  God  pleases."  * 

*  Voltaire's  owe  words. — CEuvves,  p.  HO. 


278 


BERLIN   AND    SANS-SOUCI :    OR, 


He  laughed  heartily,  and  took  his 
cash-book,  in  which  he  entered  receipts 
and  expenditures.  It  was  Voltaire's 
greatest  pleasure  to  add  up  his  accounts 
from  time  to  time,  and  gloat  over  the 
growth  of  his  fortune  ;  to  compare,  day 
by  day,  nis  receipts  and  exjjenses,  and 
to  find  that  a  handsome  sum  was  almost 
daily  placed  to  his  credit.  The  smallest 
necessaj'y  expense  angered  him.  With 
a  dark  frown  he  said  to  himself:  "  It  is 
unjust  and  mean  to  require  of  me  to  buy 
provender  for  my  horse,  and  to  have 
my  carriage  repaired  ;  if  the  king  fur- 
nishes me  with  an  equipage,  he  should 
not  allow  it  to  be  any  expense  to  me. 
The  major-domo  is  an  old  miser,  who 
cheats  me  every  month  out  of  some 
pounds  of  sugar  and  coffee,  and  the  wax- 
lights  are  becoming  thinner  and  poorer, 
I  will  complain  to  King  Frederick  of 
all  this;  he  must  see  that  order  prevails 
in  his  palace." 

Voltaire  closed  his  account-book,  and 
murmured  :  "  When  I  have  an  income 
of  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs, 
I  will  cease  to  economize.  God  be 
praised,  I  have  almost  reached  the  goal ! 
But,"  said  he,  impatie^itly,  "in  order  to 
eflfect  this,  I  must  remain  here  a  few 
years,  and  add  my  pension  to  my  in- 
come. Nothing  must  prevent  this — I 
must  overcome  every  obstacle.  What ! 
who  can  hinder  me  ?  my  so-called  friends, 
who  naturally  are  my  most  bitter  ene- 
mies ?  Ha,  ha  !  what  a  romantic  idea 
of  this  genial  king  to  assemble  six 
friends  around  me  at  Sans-Souci ;  the 
most  of  them  being  authors — that  is  to 
say,  natural  enemies  !  I  believe  if  two 
authors,  two  women,  or  two  pietists, 
were  placed  alone  upon  a  desert  isle, 
they  would  forget  their  dependence  up- 
on each  other,  and  commence  intriguing 
at  once.  But  this,  alas!  is  humanity, 
and  being  so,  one  must  withdraw  from 
the  poor  affair  advantageously  and  cun- 
ningly.*   No  one  can  live  peacefully  in 

*  Voltaire's  words. — ODuvres,  p.  375. 


this  world ;  least  of  all.  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  a  king.  It  is  v/ith  kings  as 
with  coquettes,  their  glances  kindle 
jealousy — and  Frederick  is  a  great  co- 
quette. I  must,  therefore,  drive  my 
rivals  from  the  field,  and  enjoy  in  peace 
the  favor  ol  the  king.  Now  which  of 
my  rivals  are  dangerous  to  me  ?  All  ! 
all! — I  must  banish  them  all!  I  will 
sow  such  discontent  and  rage  and  malice 
and  strife  amongst  them,  that  they  will 
fly  in  hot  haste,  and  thank  God  if  I  do 
not  bite  off  their  noses  before  they  es- 
cape. I  will  turn  this,  their  laughing 
jjaradise,  into  a  hell,  and  I  will  be  the 
devil  to  chase  them  with  glowing  pitch- 
forks. Yes,  even  to  Siberia  will  I  drive 
this  long-legged  peacock,  Maupertius — 
him,  first  of  all;  then  D'Argens,  then 
Algarotti,  then  this  over-wise  and  good 
Lord  Keith,  and  all  others  like  him  I 
When  Voltaire's  sun  is  in  the  ascendant, 
not  even  stars  shall  glitter.  It  shall  not 
he\  I  will  i)rove  to  them  that  Vol- 
taire's fiery  rays  have  burned  them  to 
ashes ! "  * 

He  laughed  aloud,  and  seated  himself 
to  write  a  poem.  He  was  invited  that 
evening  to  a  soiree  by  the  queen-mother, 
where  he  wished  to  shine  as  an  improv 
isator.  Above  all  other  things,  he 
wished  to  win  the  heart  of  the  Princess 
Amelia.  Since  she  had  played  the  part 
of  Aurelia,  in  "Rome  Sauv6e,"  he  had 
felt  a  passion  f()r  the  princess,  who  had 
portrayed  to  the  life  the  ardor  and  the 
pains  of  love,  and  whose  great  flaming 
eyes  seemed,  from  their  mysterious 
depths,  to  rouse  the  soul  of  the  poet. 
Voltaire  had  promised  the  Princess 
Amelia  to  improvise  upon  any  subject 
she  should  select,  and  he  relied  upon 
his  cunning  to  incline  her  choice  in  such 
a  direction  as  to  make  the  poem  he  was 
now  writing  appropriate  and  seem  im- 
promptu. 

While  thus  occupied,  his  servant  en- 
tered and  announced  a  number  of  dis 

*  Yoltaire,  CEuvres,  p.  878 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AXD   HIS  FRIENDS. 


279 


tinguished  gentlemen,  who  were  in  the 
parlor,  and  -wished  to  make  the  great 
author  a  morning  visit.  "  Let  them  all 
wait !  "  said  Voltaire,  angrily ;  declaring 
that  this  disturbance  had  cost  him  a 
piquant  rhyme. 

"  But,  gracious  sir,"  stammered  the 
servant,  "some  of  the  most  distin- 
guished men  of  the  court,  and  the  old- 
est generals,  are  there !  " 

**  What  do  I  care  for  their  epaulets 
or  their  excellencies  ?  Let  them  wait, 
or  go  to  the  devil — if  they  prefer  it ! " 

Well,  the  eminent  gentlemen  waited ; 
indeed,  they  waited  patiently,  until  the 
great  Voltaire,  the  favorite  of  the  king, 
the  universal  French  author,  in  his 
pride  and  arrogance  was  graciously 
pleased  to  show  himself  amongst  the 
Dutch  barbarians,  and  allow  some  rays 
of  his  intellect  to  fall  upon  and  inspire 
them ! 

The  saloon  was  indeed  crowded  with 
princes,  generals,  and  nobles.  Voltaire 
had  just  returned  to  Berlin  from  Pots- 
dam, and  all  hastened  to  pay  their  re- 
spects and  commend  themselves  to  his 
grace  and  favor.* 

Voltaire  was  very  gracious  this  morn- 
ing. As  he  was  to  play  the  part  of  im- 
provisator that  night,  he  thought  it 
politic  to  make  favor  with  all  those  who 
would  be  present.  He  hoped  that  all 
the  world  would  thunder  out  their  en- 
raptured applause,  and  that  Maupertius, 
D'Argens,  Algarotd,  LaMettrie,  and  all 
other  friends  of  the  king,  would  be 
filled  with  envy  and  rage.  He  smiled, 
therefore,  benignautly,  and  had  kind 

•  Forney  writes  thus  in  his  "  Memoirs  :  "  "  Dnr- 
ng.the  winter  months  which  Voltaire  spent  in  the 
palace  of  Berlin,  he  was  the  favorite  of  the  court. 
Princes,  ambassadors,  ministers,  genersls,  nobles 
01  tJie  hiiihest  rank,  went  to  his  morning  receptions, 
and  were  often  received  by  him  with  contemptu- 
ous scorn.  A  great  prince  was  pleased  to  play  cbtss 
with  him,  and  allowed  him  every  time  to  win  the 
stake  of  two  louis  d'ors.  It  was  declared,  however, 
that  sometimes  the  gold  disappeared  before  the  end 
»f  the  game,  and  could  not  be  found." — '•  Souvenirs 
d'as  Citoyon.'' 


and  flattering  words  for  all.  His  Ion- 
mots  and  piquant  witticisms  seemed  in- 
exhaustible. 

Suddenly  his  servant  drew  near,  and 
said  it  was  necessary  to  speak  to  him 
on  a  matter  of  great  importance.  Vol- 
taire turned  with  a  winning  smile  to 
his  guests,  and,  praying  them  to  wait 
for  his  return,  entered  his  private  room. 

"  Well,  Tripot,  what  have  you  to  say 
that  is  important  ?  " 

"  Gracious  sir,  the  court  is  in  mourn- 
ing." 

Voltaire  looked  at  him  enraged, 
"  Fool !  what  is  that  to  me  ? " 

"  It  is  of  the  utmost  importance  to 
you,  sir,  if  you  are  going  this  evening 
to  the  soiree  of  the  queen-mother." 

"  Will  you  run  me  mad,  Tripot  ? 
What  has  court  mourning  to  do  with 
the  queen's  soiree  ?  " 

"  Gracious  sir,  the  explanation  is  very 
simple.  Wlien  the  court  is  in  mourning, 
no  one  can  appear  there  in  embroid- 
ered clothes ;  you  must  wear  a  plaif 
black  coat." 

"I  have  no  plain  black  coat,"  sidd 
Voltaire,  with  a  frowning  brow. 

"  It  is  necessary,  then,  for  you  to  order 
one,  and  I  have  sent  Monsieur  Pilleneure 
to  come  and  take  your  measure." 

"Are  you  insane,  Tripot?"  cried 
Voltaire.  "Do  you  regard  me  as  so 
vile  a  spendthrift,  so  brainless  a  fool,  as 
to  order  a  new  coat  for  the  sake  of  one 
evening's  amusement  —  a  coat  which 
will  cost  an  immense  sum  of  money,  and 
must  then  hang  in  the  wardrobe  to  be 
destroyed  by  moths?  In  eight  days 
this  mourning  will  be  over,  and  I  would 
be  several  hundred  francs  poorer,  and 
possess  a  black  coat  I  could  never  wear  I 
I  will  not  go  this  evening  to  the  soiree 
of  the  queen-mother ;  this  is  decided. 
I  will  announce  myself  sick.  Go  and 
countermand  the  tailor." 

He  turned  to  leave  the  room,  but 
paused  suddenly.  "I  cannot  decline 
this  invitation,"  murmured  he.     "  It  ia 


2«0 


BERLIN   AND   SANS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


widely  known  that  I  have  promised  to 
improvise.  The  world  is  looking  on 
eagerly.  If  I  do  not  go,  or  if  I  announce 
myself  sick,  they  will  say  I  shrink  from 
this  ordeal.  3Iy  enemies  will  triumph  ! 
Tripot,  I  am  obliged  to  go  to  the  soiree 
of  the  queen." 

"  Then  the  tailor  must  come  to  take 
your  measure?" 

"  Fool  !  "  cried  Voltaire,  stamping 
furiously.  "  I  have  told  you  I  have  no 
gold  for  such  follies.  Gather  up  your 
small  amount  of  understanding,  and 
think  of  some  other  expedient." 

"Well,  your  excellency,  I  know  a 
mode  of  escape  from  this  embarrassment, 
but  I  scarcely  dare  propose  it." 

"  Speak  out — any  means  are  good 
which  attain  their  object." 

"  Below,  in  the  court,  dwells  the  mer- 
chant Fromery.  Ilis  servant  is  my  very 
good  friend.  I  have  learned  from  him 
that  his  master  has  just  purchased  a 
beautiful  black  coat.  I  think  he  has 
about  the  figure  of  your  excellency." 

"  Ah,  I  understand,"  said  Voltaire, 
whose  countenance  became  clearer. 
•'You  will  borrow  for  me,  from  your 
friend,  the  coat  of  his  master  ? " 

"  Yes,  if  your  excellency  is  not  offend- 
ed at  my  proposal  ?  " 

"On  the  contrary,  I  find  the  idea 
capital.  Go,  Tripot,  and  borrow  the 
coat  of  Fromery." 

Voltaire  returaed  once  more  to  his 
distinguished  guests,  and  enraptured 
them  again  by  his  witty  slanders  and 
brilliant  conversation.  As  the  last  vis- 
itor departed,  he  rang  for  his  servant. 

"  Well,  Tripot,  have  you  the  coat  ? " 

"  I  have,  your  excellency." 

Voltaire  rubbed  his  hands  with  de- 
light. "  It  seems  this  is  a  happy  day 
for  me — I  make  the  most  advantageous 
business  arrangements." 

"But  it  will  be  necessary  for  your 
grace  to  try  on  this  coat.  I  fear  it  is 
too  large ;  since  I  saw  Fromery,  he  has 
grown  fat." 


"The  ass!"  cried  Voltaire.  "How 
does  he  dare  to  fatten,  when  all  the 
people  of  intellect  and  celebrity,  like 
myself,  grow  thinner  every  day  ?  "  So 
saying,  he  put  on  the  coat  of  the  mer- 
chant Fromery.  "  Yes,  truly,  it  is  far 
too  large  for  me.  Oh,  oh  !  to  think  that 
the  coat  of  a  pitiful  Dutch  tradesman 
is  too  large  for  the  great  French  poet ! 
Well,  that  is  because  these  Dutch  bar- 
barians think  of  nothing  but  gormandiz- 
ing. They  puff  up  their  gross  bodies 
with  common  food,  and  they  daily  be- 
come flitter ;  but  the  spirit  suffers.  IVIis- 
erable  slaves  of  their  appetites,  they  are 
of  no  use  themselves,  and  their  coats 
are  also  useless !  " 

"  Does  your  excellency  believe  that 
it  is  impossible  to  wear  the  coat  ? " 

"Do  I  believe  it  is  impossible? — 
Look  at  me !  Do  I  not  look  like  a 
hungry  heir  in  the  testamentary  coat 
of  his  rich  cousin  the  brewer  ?  Would 
it  not  be  thought  that  I  was  a  scare- 
crow, to  drive  the  birds  from  the  corn- 
fields?" 

At  this  moment  Monsieur  Pilleneure 
was  announced. 

"  Good  Heaven  I  I  forget  to  counter- 
mand the  tailor!  "  cried  Tripot. 

"That  is  fortunate!"  said  Voltaire, 
calming  himself.  "  God  sends  this 
tailor  here  to  put  an  end  to  my  vexa- 
tion. This  coat  is  good  and  handsome, 
only  a  little  too  large — the  tailor  will 
alter  it  immediately." 

"  That  will  be  splendid  !  "  said  Tripot. 
"  He  will  take  in  the  seams,  and  to-mor- 
row enlarge  it  again." 

"  Not  so  !  "  cried  Voltaire.  "  The 
coat  could  not  possibly  look  well ;  he 
must  cut  away  the  scams." 

"But  then,"  said  Tripot,  hesitatingly, 
"Fromery  could  never  wear  his  coat 
again." 

"Fromery  will  learn  that  Voltaire 
has  done  him  the  honor  to  borrow  hw 
coat,  and  I  think  that  will  be  a  sufficienc 
compensation.   Tell  the  tailor  to  enter.' 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT   AND   BIS  FRIENDS. 


28] 


Til  auks  to  the  adroitness  of  Pille- 
leure,  Voltaire  ai)peared  at  the  soiree  of 
the  queen-mother  in  a  handsome,  well- 
fitting  black  coat.  No  one  guessed  that 
the  mourning  dress  of  the  celebrated 
French  writer  belonged  to  the  mer- 
chant Fromery,  and  tliat  the  glittering 
diamond  agraffes  in  his  bosom,  and 
the  costly  rings  on  his  fingers,  were 
the  property  of  the  Jew  HLrsch.  Vol- 
taire's eyes  were  more  sparkling  than 
diamonds,  and  the  glances  which  he 
fixed  upon  the  Princess  Amelia  more 
glowing ;  her  pale  and  earnest  beauty 
inspired  him  to  finer  wit  and  richer 
hymns  of  praise. 

No  one  dared  to  say  that  this  pas- 
sionate adoration  offered  to  the  prin- 
cess was  unbecoming  and  offensive  to 
etiquette.  Voltaire  was  the  man  of  his 
age,  and  therefore  justified  in  offering 
his  worship  even  to  a  princess.  He  was 
also  the  favorite  of  the  king,  who  al- 
lowed him  privileges  granted  to  no 
other  man.  There  was  one  present, 
however,  who  found  these  words  of 
passion  and  rapture  too  bold,  and  that 
one  was  King  Frederick.  He  had  en- 
tered noiselessly  and  unannounced,  as 
was  his  custom,  and  he  saw,  with  a  de- 
risive smile,  how  every  one  surrounded 
Voltaire,  and  all  were  zealous  in  ex- 
pressing their  rapture  over  his  impro- 
vised poem,  and  entreating  him  to  re- 
peat it. 

"  How  can  I  repeat  what  I  no  longer 
know?"  said  he.  *'An  angel  floated 
by  me  in  the  air,  and,  by  a  glance 
alone,  she  whispered  words  which  my 
enraptured  lips  uttered  as  in  a  wild 
kallucination." 

"The  centuries  to  come  are  to  be 
pitied  if  they  are  to  be  deprived  of  this 
enchanting  poem,"  said  the  Princess 
Ajuelia.  She  had  remarked  the  en- 
trance of  the  king,  knew  that  his  eye 
was  fixed  upon  her,  and  wished  to 
please  him  by  flattering  his  beloved 
favorite. 


"  If  your  royal  highness  thinka  thus, 
I  will  now  write  out  a  poem  which  I 
had  designed  only  to  recite,"  said  Vol- 
taire, seating  himself  at  the  card-table ; 
and,  taking  a  card  and  pencil,  he  wrote 
with  a  swift  hand  and  handed  the  card, 
bowing  profoundly. 

The  king,  who  was  a  silent  spectator 
of  this  scene,  looked  at  the  Princess 
Amelia,  and  saw  that  she  blushed  as 
she  read,  and  her  brow  was  clouded. 

"  Allow  me,  also,  to  read  the  poem 
of  the  great  Voltaii-e,  my  sister,"  said 
the  king,  drawing  near. 

The  princess  handed  him  the  card; 
while  Frederick  read,  all  stood  around 
him  in  respectful  silence. 

"This  poem  is  sublime,"  said  the 
king,  smiling.  He  saw  that  the  prin 
cess  was  no  longer  grave,  and  that  Vol 
taire  breathed  freely,  as  if  relieved  from 
a  great  apprehension.  "  This  little 
poem  is  so  enchanting,  that  you  must 
allow  me  to  copy  it,  my  sister.  Go  on 
with  your  conversation,  messieurs,  it 
does  not  disturb  me." 

A  request  from  the  lips  of  the  king 
is  a  command  ;  all  exerted  themselves 
therefore  to  keep  up  a  gay  and  animat- 
ed conversation,  and  to  seem  thought- 
less and  unoccupied.  Frederick  seated 
himself  at  the  table,  and  read  once  more 
the  poem  of  Voltaire,  which  was  as  fol- 
lows: 

"  Soavent  an  pen  de  verite 
Se  mele  iiu  plus  grossier  mensons;e. 
Cette  nuit  dansTerreurd'un  songe, 
Au  rang  des  rois  j'elais  raonte, 
Je  VOU9  aimais  alors,  et  j'osais  vous  le  dire, 
Les  dieux  a  mon  reveil  ne  m'ont  pas  tout  616, 
Je  n'ai  perdu  que  mon  empire." 

"  Insolent ! "  cried  the  king,  and  hia 
scornful  glance  wandered  away  to  Vol- 
taire, who  was  seated  near  the  queen, 
engaged  in  lively  conversation.  "  We 
will  damp  his  ardor,"  said  he,  smiling ; 
and,  taking  a  card,  he  commenced  wri- 
ting hastily. 

Truly  at  this  moment  the  stem  mas- 
ter Voltaire  might  have  been  content 


282 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


with  his  roj'al  pupil ;  the  rhymes  were 
good  and  flowed  freely.  When  Fred- 
erick had  finished  his  poem,  he  i)ut 
Voltaire's  card  in  his  bosom  and  drew 
near  to  the  princess, 

"The  poem  is  piquant,"  said  he; 
"  read  it  yourself,  and  then  ask  Voltaire 
to  read  it  aloud," 

Amelia  looked  strangely  at  the  king, 
but  as  she  read,  a  soft  smile  lighted  up 
her  lovely,  melancholy  face.  Bowing 
to  her  brother,  she  said  in  low  tones,  "  I 
thank  your  highness." 

"  Now  give  the  card  to  Voltaire,  and 
ask  him  to  read  it,"  said  the  king. 

Voltaire  took  the  card,  but  as  he  read 
he  did  not  smile  as  the  princess  had 
done — ^he  turned  pale  and  pressed  his 
lips  tightly  together. 

"  Read  it,"  said  the  king. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Voltaire, 
who  had  immediately  i-ecovcred  his 
self-possession ;  "  this  little  poem,  so 
hastily  composed,  was  not  worthy  of 
the  exalted  princess  to  whom  I  dared 
address  it.  Your  majesty  will  be  gra- 
ciously jJleased  to  remember  that  it 
was  born  in  a  moment,  and  the  next  in- 
stant lost  its  value.  As  I  now  read  it, 
I  find  it  dull  and  trivial.  You  will  not 
be  so  cruel  as  to  force  me  to  read  aloud 
to  your  majesty  that  which  I  condemn 
utterly." 

"  Oh,  le  coquin  !  "  murmured  Fred- 
erick, while  Voltaire,  with  a  profound 
bow,  placed  the  card  in  his  pocket. 

When  the  soiHe  was  over,  and  Vol- 
taire returned  to  his  rooms,  the  gay 
and  genial  expression  which  he  had  so 
carefully  maintained  during  the  even- 
ing disappeared ;  and  his  lips,  which 
had  smiled  so  kindly,  muttered  words 
of  cursing  and  bitterness.  He  ordered 
Tripot  to  arrange  liis  writing-table  and 
leave  the  room.  Being  now  alone,  he 
drew  the  card  from  his  bosom,  and,  as 
if  to  convince  himself  that  what  he 
saw  was  truth  and  no  cruel  dream,  he 
rcttd  aloud,  but  with  a  trembling  voice : 


"  On  remarqne,  ponr  I'ordlnaire, 
Qu'un  sonpe  est  analogue  A  notre  caractftra, 
Un  h6ros  pent  rever,  qu'il  a  passiS  le  Ehin, 
Tin  chicn  qu'il  aboie  h  la  lune  ; 
Un  joueur,  qu'il  a  fait  fortune, 
Tin  voleur,  qu'il  a  fail  butin. 
Mais  que  Voltaire,  a  I'aiJe  d'un  mensonge, 
Osb  se  croire  roi  lui  que  n'est  qu'un  faquin, 
Ma  fois  !  c'est  abuser  du  songe." 

"  So  I  am  already  a  scoundrel  ? "  said 
Voltaire,  grinning.  "  My  enemies  tri- 
umph, and  he  who  a  short  time  since 
was  called  the  wise  man  of  the  age,  the 
Virgil  of  France,  is  nothing  but  a 
scoundrel  1  This  time,  I  confess,  I 
merited  my  humiliation,  and  the  con- 
sciousness of  this  increases  my  rage.  I 
am  a  good-humored,  credulous  fool. 
Why  was  I  so  silly  as  to  credit  the  sol- 
emn protestations  of  the  king  that  1 
should  never  feel  his  superior  rank; 
that  he  would  never  show  himself  the 
master  ?  If  I  dare  to  claim  an  equal- 
ity with  him  for  an  instant,  he  swings 
his  rod  of  correction,  and  I  am  bowed 
in  the  dust !  Voltaire  is  not  the  man 
to  bow  patiently.  The  day  shall  come 
in  which  I  will  revenge  with  rich  in- 
terest the  degradation  of  this  evening. 
But  enough  of  anger  and  excitement. 
I  uill  sleep  ;  perhaps  in  happy  dreams 
I  shall  wander  from  the  chilly  borders 
of  the  Spree  to  my  own  beautiful 
Paris," 

He  called  Tripot,  and  commanded 
him  to  announce  to  Frederedorf  that 
he  was  ill,  and  could  not  accompany 
the  king  to  Potsdam  in  the  morning. 

He  then  retu-ed,  and  the  gods,  per- 
haps, heard  his  prayer,  and  allowed 
him  in  dreams  to  look  upcm  Paris, 
where  the  Marquise  de  Pompadour 
reigned  supreme,  and  the  pious  priests 
preached  against  the  Atheist  Voltaire, 
to  whom  the  great-hearted  King  of 
Prussia  had  given  an  asylum.  Perhaps 
he  saw  in  his  dreams  the  seigneurie  of 
his  glittering  future,  and  his  beautiful 
house  at  Ferney,  where  he  built  a  tem- 
ple, with  the  proud  inscription,  "  Vol 
taire  Deo  erexit !  " 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


283 


At  all  events,  his  dreams  must  have 
>een  very  pleasant  and  refreshing.  He 
aughed  in  his  sleep  ;  and  his  counte- 
aance,  which  was  so  often  clouded  by 
base  and  wicked  passions,  was  bright 
and  clear;  it  was  the  face  of  a  poet, 
who,  with  closed  eyes,  looked  up  into 
the  heaven  of  heavens. 

The  morning  came,  and  Voltaire  still 
slept — even  the  rolling  of  the  carriages 
aroused  him  but  for  a  moment;  he 
wrapped  himself  up  in  his  warm  bed, 
the  soft  eider  down  of  his  pillow  closed 
over  his  head  and  made  him  invisible. 
Tripot  came  lightly  upon  tiptoe  and 
removed  the  black  coat  of  the  mer- 
chant Fromery.  Voltaire  hear  nothing ; 
he  slept  on.  And  now  the  door  was 
noisily  opened,  and  a  young  woman, 
with  fresh,  rosy  cheeks  and  sparkling 
eyes,  entered  the  room  ;  she  was  dressed 
as  a  chambermaid,  a  little  white  co- 
quettish cap  covered  her  hair,  and  a 
white  apron  with  a  little  bodice  was 
laced  over  her  striped  woollen  robe. 
Upon  her  white,  naked  arm  she  carried 
linen  which  she  threw  carelessly  upon 
the  floor,  and  drew  with  rash  steps 
near  the  bed.  Voltaire  still  slept,  and 
was  still  invisible. 

The  young  chambermaid,  believing 
that  he  had  gone  with  the  King  to 
Potsdam,  had  come  to  arrange  the 
room;  with  a  quick  movement  she 
seized  the  bed  with  her  sinewy  hands 
and  threw  it  oflF.  A  wild  cry  was 
heard!  a  white  skeleton  figure  rose 
from  the  bed,  now  lying  in  the  middle 
of  the  chamber,  and  danced  about  the 
floor  with  doubled  fists  and  wild  curses. 
The  girl  uttered  a  shriek  of  terror  and 
rushed  from  the  room ;  and,  if  the  form 
and  the  nightcap  had  not  been  purely 
white,  she  would  have  sworn  she  had 
seen  the  devil  in  person,  and  that  she 
had  cast  him  out  from  the  bed  of  the 
great  French  poet.* 

•  Thiebault,  t.,  881. 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE     LOVERS. 


The  day  of  grace  was  at  an  end. 
The  four  weeks  which  the  king  had 
granted  to  his  sister,  in  order  that  she 
might  take  counsel  with  herself,  were 
passed,  and  the  heart  of  the  princess 
was  unmoved  —  only  her  face  was 
changed.  Amelia  hid  her  pallor  with 
rouge,  and  the  convulsive  trembling  of 
her  Ups  with  forced  smiles ;  but  it  was 
evident  that  her  cheeks  became  daily 
more  hollow,  and  her  eyes  more  in- 
flamed. Even  the  king  remarked  this, 
and  sent  his  physician  to  examine  her 
eyes.  The  princess  received  this  mes- 
senger of  the  king  with  a  bitter,  icy 
smile. 

"  The  king  is  very  good ;  but  I  am 
not  ill — I  do  not  suffer." 

"  But,  your  royal  highness,  your  eyes 
suffer.  They  are  weak  and  inflamed: 
allow  me  to  examine  them." 

"Yes,  as  my  brother  has  commanded 
it ;  but  I  warn  you,  you  cannot  heal 
them." 

Meckel,  the  physician,  examined  her 
eyes  with  the  closest  attention,  then 
shook  his  head  thoughtfully. 

"  Princess,"  said  he,  at  last,  in  low, 
respectful  tones,  "if  you  grant  your 
eyes  no  rest ;  if,  instead  of  sleeping 
quietly,  you  pass  the  night  pacing  your 
room  ;  if  you  continue  to  exhaust  your 
eyes  by  constant  weeping,  the  most 
fatal  consequences  may  result." 

"  Do  you  mean  I  will  become  blind  ?  " 
said  Amelia,  quietly. 

"I  mean  your  eyes  are  suflfering; 
that,  however,  is  no  acute  disease  ;  but 
your  whole  nervous  system  is  in  a 
dangerous  conditifin,  and  all  this  must 
be  rectified  before  your  eyes  can  be 
healed." 

"Prescribe  something,  then,  as  hia 
majesty  has  commanded  it,"  said  Ame- 
lia, coldly. 


284 


BERLIN   A.ND  SANS-SOUCI ;    OK, 


"I  will  give  jvour  royal  liigliness  a 
remedy  :  but  it  is  of  so  strong  and  dan- 
gerous a  nature,  that  it  must  be  used 
only  with  the  utmost  caution.  It  is  a 
liquid :  must  be  heated,  and  you  must 
allow  the  steam  to  pass  into  your  eyes. 
Your  highness  must  be  very,  very  care- 
ful. The  substances  in  this  mixture  are 
80  strong,  so  corrosive,  that  if  you  ap- 
proach too  near  the  steam,  it  will  not 
only  endanger  your  eyes,  but  your  face 
and  your  voice.  You  must  keep  your 
mouth  firmly  closed,  and  your  eyes  at 
least  ten  inches  above  the  vessel  from 
which  the  steam  is  rising.  "Will  your 
highness  remember  all  this,  and  act  as 
I  have  directed  ?  " 

"  I  will  remember  it,"  said  Amelia, 
replying  only  to  the  first  part  of  his 
question. 

Meckel  did  not  remark  this.  He 
wrote  his  prescription  and  withdrew, 
once  more  reminding  Amelia  of  the 
caution  necessary. 

As  has  been  said,  this  was  the  last 
day  of  grace.  The  princess  seemed 
calm  and  resigned.  Even  to  her  con- 
fidential maid  she  uttered  no  com- 
plaints. The  steaming  mixture  was 
prepared,  and  while  Amelia  held  her- 
self some  distance  above  it,  as  the  phy- 
sician had  commanded,  she  said  laugh- 
ingly to  Ernestine  :  "  I  must  strive  to 
make  my  eyes  bright,  that  my  brother 
may  be  pleased,  or  at  least  that  he  may 
not  be  excited  against  me." 

The  prescription  seemed  to  work 
wonders.  The  eyes  of  the  princess  were 
clear  and  bright,  and  upon  her  cheeks 
burned  that  dark,  glowing  carnation, 
which  an  energetic  will  and  a  strong 
and  bold  resolve  sometimes  call  into 
life. 

"  Now,  Ernestine,  come  !  make  me  a 
careful  and  tasteful  toilet.  It  seems  to 
me  that  this  is  my  wedding-day  ;  that  I 
am  about  to  consecrate  myself  forever  to 
a  beloved  friend." 

'  Oh,  princess,  let  it  be  thus  ! "  cried 


Fraulein  von Haak, imploringly.  "Con- 
strain your  noble  heart  to  follow  the 
wishes  of  the  king,  ana  wed  the  King 
of  Denmark." 

Amelia  looked  at  her,  amazed  and 
angry.  -'You  know  that  Trenck  has 
received  my  warning,  and  has  replied 
to  me.  He  will  listen  to  no  sugges- 
tions; under  no  pretext,  will  he  be  in- 
fluenced to  cross  the  borders  of  Prussia, 
not  even  if  full  pardon  and  royal  grace 
are  offered  him.  I  need  not,  therefore, 
be  anxious  on  his  account." 

"That  being  the  case,  your  royal 
highness  should  now  think  a  little  of 
your  own  happiness.  You  should  seek 
to  be  reconciled  to  your  fate  —  to  yield 
to  that  which  is  unalterable.  The  king, 
the  royal  fimily,  yes,  the  whole  land 
wall  rejoice  if  this  marriage  with  the 
King  of  Denmark  takes  place.  Oh, 
princess,  be  wise  !  do  willingly,  peace- 
fully, what  you  will  otherwise  be  forced 
to  do !  Consent  to  be  Queen  of  Den- 
mark." 

"  You  have  never  loved,  Ernestine, 
and  you  do  not  know  that  it  is  a  crime 
to  break  a  holy  oath  sworn  unto  God. 
But  let  us  be  silent.  I  know  what  is 
before  me — I  am  prepared  !  " 

With  calm  indift'erence,  Amelia  com- 
pleted her  toilet ;  then  stepped  to  the 
large  Pysche,  which  stood  in  her  bou- 
doir, and  examined  herself  with  a 
searching  eye. 

"  I  think  there  is  nothing  in  my  ap- 
pearance to  enrage  the  king.  I  have 
laid  rouge  heavily  upon  my  cheeks,  and, 
thanks  to  Heckle's  j'^escription,  my 
eyes  are  as  brilliant  as  if  they  had  shed 
no  tears.  If  I  meet  my  brother  with 
this  friendly,  happy  smile,  he  will  not 
remark  that  my  cheeks  are  sunken.  He 
will  be  content  with  me,  and  perhaps 
listen  to  my  prayers." 

Ernestine  regarded  her  with  a  sad 
and  troubled  glance.  "  You  look  pale, 
princess,  in  spite  of  your  rougo,  and 
your  laugh  lacerates  the  heart.    There 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


285 


£  a  tone,  a  ring  in  it,  like  a  broken 
barp-string." 

"Still,"  said  Amelia,  "still,  Ernes- 
tine !  my  hour  has  come  !  I  go  to  the 
king.  Look,  the  hand  of  the  clock 
points  to  twelve,  and  I  asked  an  audi- 
tmce  of  the  king  at  this  hour.  Farewell, 
Ernestine  ! — Ernestine,  pray  for  me." 

She  wrapped  herself  in  her  mantle, 
and  then  stepped  slowly  and  proudly 
through  the  corridors  to  the  wing  of 
the  castle  occapied  by  the  king.  Fred- 
erick received  her  in  his  library.  He 
advanced  to  the  door  to  meet  her,  and 
with  a  kindly  smile  extended  both  his 
hands. 

"  Welcome,  Amelia,  a  thousand  times 
welcome  !  Your  coming  proves  to  me 
that  your  heart  has  found  the  strength 
which  I  expected ;  that  my  sweet  sister 
has  recovered  herself,  her  maidenly 
pride,  fully. 

"  The  proud  daughter  of  the  Hohen- 
zoUerns  is  here  to  say  to  the  king — '  The 
King  of  Denmark  demands  my  hand. 
I  will  bestow  it  upon  him.  My  father's 
daughter  dare  not  wed  beneath  her. 
She  must  look  onward  and  upward. 
There  is  no  myrtle- wreath  for  me,  but  a 
crown  is  glittering,  and  I  accept  it. 
God  has  made  both  heart  and  brain 
strong  enough  to  bear  its  weight.  I 
shall  be  no  happy  shepherdess,  but  I 
shall  be  a  great  and  good  queen  ;  I  will 
make  others  happy.' 

"  You  have  come,  Amelia,  to  say  this 
to  the  king ;  but  you  have  also  come 
to  say  to  your  brother — '  I  am  ready 
to  fulfil  your  wishes.  I  know  that 
no  selfish  views,  no  ambitious  plans 
influence  you.  I  know  that  you  think 
only  of  my  prosperity  and  my  happi- 
ness; that  you  would  save  me  from 
misfortune,  humiliation,  and  shame; 
that  you  would  guard  me  from  the 
mistakes  and  weaknesses  of  my  own 
heart.  I  accede  to  your  wish,  my 
brother  —  I  will  be  Queen  of  Den- 
mark! '    Kow,  Amelia,"  said  Freder- 


ick, with  an  agitated  voice,  "  have  I 
not  rightly  divined  ?  Have  you  not 
sought  me  for  this  purpose  ?  " 

"  No,  my  brother,  no,  no  1 "  cried 
Amelia,  with  wild,  gushing  tears. 
"No;  I  have  come  to  implore  your 
pity,  your  mercy."  Completely  beside 
herself,  mad  with  passion  and  pain,  she 
fell  upon  her  knees  and  raised  her 
arms  entreatingly  to  the  king.  "  Mercy, 
my  brother,  mercy  !  Oh,  spare  my 
poor,  martyred  heart  ?  Leave  me  at 
least  the  liberty  to  complain  and  to  be 
wretched !  Do  not  condemn  me  to 
marry  Denmark ! " 

Frederick  stepped  backward,  and 
his  brow  darkened  ;  but  he  controlled 
his  impatience,  and  drew  near  his  sis- 
ter with  a  kindly  smile,  and,  gently 
raising  her  from  her  knees,  he  led  her 
to  the  divan. 

"  Come,  Amelia,  it  does  not  become 
you  to  kneel  to  a  man — to  God  only 
should  a  princess  kneel.  Let  us  be 
seated,  and  speak  to  each  other  as 
brother  and  sister  should  speak  who  love 
and  wish  to  understand  each  other." 

"  I  am  ready  for  all  else,  I  will  ac- 
commodate myself  to  all  else — only  be 
merciful !  Do  not  compel  me  to  wed 
Denmark ! " 

"  Ah,  see,  my  sister,  although  you 
are  struggling  against  me,  how  justly 
you  comprehend  your  position ! "  said 
the  king,  mildly.  "You  speak  of 
wedding  Denmark.  Your  exalted  and 
great  destiny  sleeps  in  these  words.  A 
princess  when  she  marries  does  not 
wed  a  man,  but  a  whole  people ;  she 
does  not  only  make  a  man  but  a  nation 
happy.  There  are  the  weeping,  whose 
tears  she  will  dry ;  the  poor,  whose 
hunger  she  will  assuage  ;  the  unhappy 
to  whom  she  will  bring  consolation 
the  sick  and  dying,  with  whom  she  will 
pray.  There  is  a  whole  people  advan- 
cing to  meet  her  with  shouts  of  glad- 
ness, stretching  out  their  hands,  and 
asking  for  love.     God  has  blessed  the 


^86 


BERLIN   AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


iiearts  of  queens  with  the  power  to  love 
their  subjects,  because  they  are  women. 
Oh,  my  sister,  this  is  a  great,  a  noble 
destiny  which  Providence  offers  you — 
to  be  the  beneficent,  mediating,  smiling 
angel,  standing  ever  by  the  side  of  a 
king — a  bond  of  love  between  a  king 
and  his  subjects !  Truly  one  might  well 
offer  up  their  poor,  pitiful  wishes,  their 
own  personal  happiness,  for  such  a  noble 
destiny." 

"  I  have  no  more  happiness  to  offer 
up,"  sighed  Amelia.  "  I  have  no  hap- 
piness ;  I  do  not  ask  so  much.  I  plead 
for  tlie  230or  right  of  living  for  my 
great  sorrow — of  being  faithfid  to  my- 
self" 

"  He  only  is  faithful  to  himself  who 
lives  to  discharge  his  duties,"  said  the 
king.  "  He  only  is  true  to  himself  who 
governs  himself,  and  if  he  cannot  be 
happy,  at  least  endeavors  to  make 
others  so ;  and  this  vocation  of  mak- 
ing others  happy  is  the  noblest  calling 
for  a  woman;  by  this  shall  she  over- 
come her  selfishness  and  find  comfort, 
strength,  and  peace.  And  who,  my 
sister,  can  say  that  he  is  happy  ?  Oar 
life  consists  in  unfulfilled  wishes,  vain 
hopes  destroyed,  ideals,  and  lost  illu- 
sions. Look  at  me,  Amelia.  Have  I 
ever  been  happy  ?  Do  you  believe  that 
there  is  a  day  of  my  life  I  would  live 
over  ?  Have  I  not,  from  my  earliest 
youth,  been  acquainted  with  grief,  self- 
denial,  and  pain?  Are  not  all  the 
blossoms  of  my  life  broken  ?  Am  I 
not,  have  I  not  ever  been,  the  slave  of 
my  rank  ? — a  man  '  cabined,  cribbed, 
confined,'  though  I  appear  to  be  a  great 
king?  Oh,  I  will  not  relate  what  I 
have  suffered — how  my  heart  has  been 
.acerated  and  trampled  upon !  I  will 
only  say  to  you  that,  notwithstanding 
this,  I  have  never  wished  to  be  other 
than  I  am;  that  I  have  been  always 
thankful  for  my  fate ;  glad  to  be  born 
to  a  throne,  and  not  in  a  miserable  hut. 
Believe  me,  Amelia,  a  sublime  misfor- 


tune is  better,  more  glorious,  than  a 
petty  happiness.  To  have  the  brow 
wounded,  because  the  crown  presses  too 
heavily  upon  the  temples,  is  more  de- 
sirable than  to  breathe  out  your  sor- 
rows in  the  midst  of  poverty  and  vul- 
garity, then  sink  into  a  dark  and  un-, 
known  grave.  God,  who  has,  perhaps, 
denied  us  the  blessing  of  love,  gives 
fame  as  a  compensation.  If  we  are 
not  happy,  we  are  powerful  ! " 

"  Ah,  my  brother  these  are  the  views 
of  a  man  and  a  king,"  said  Amelia.  "I 
am  a  poor,  w-eak  w^oman.  For  me 
there  is  no  fame,  no  power  !  " 

"  Isabella  of  Spain  and  Elizabeth  of 
England  were  also  women,  and  their 
fame  has  extended  through  centuries." 

"  They,  however,  were  independent 
queens.  I  can  be  nothing  more  than 
the  wife  of  a  king.  Oh,  my  brother, 
let  me  remain  only  the  sister  of  a  king  ! 
Let  there  be  no  change  in  my  fate — let 
all  remain  as  it  is !  This  is  my  only  hope 
— my  only  prayer  !  My  heart  is  dead, 
and  every  wish  is  buried — let  it  suffice, 
my  brother !  Do  not  ask  the  impos- 
sible !  " 

The  king  sprang  from  his  seat,  and 
his  eyes  glowed  with  scorn.  "It  is, 
then,  all  in  vain  ! "  said  he,  fiercely. 
"  You  will  listen  neither  to  reason  nor 
entreaty  !  " 

"  Oh,  sire,  have  mercy — I  cannot  wed 
the  King  of  Denmark  !  " 

"You  cannot!"  cried  the  king; 
"  what  does  that  mean  ?  " 

"  That  means  that  I  have  sworn  never 
to  become  the  wife  of  another  than  of 
him  whom  I  love ;  that  means  that  I 
have  sworn  to  die  unmarried,  unless  I 
go  to  the  altar  with  my  beloved  I  " 

"  This  wild,  mad  wish  can  never  be 
fulfilled  I  "  said  the  king,  threateningly, 
"You  will  man-y  —  I,  the  king,  com- 
mand it !  " 

"  Command  me  not,  my  brother !  " 
cried  Amelia,  proudly,  command  me 
not!    You    stand  now  upon   the  ex 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT   AND   HIS  FRIEiVDS. 


287 


trcniest  boundary  of  your  power;  it 
will  be  easy  now  to  teach  you  that  a 
long  is  po>verless  against  a  firm,  bold 
will !  " 

'*  Ah  !  you  threaten  me !  " 

"  No,  I  pray  to  you — I  pray  wildly  to 
your  hard  heart  for  pity  !  I  clasp  your 
knees — I  pray  to  you,  as  the  wretched, 
the  hopeless  pray  to  God — have  mercy 
upon  my  torment,  pity  my  unspeakable 
anguish  !  I  am  a  poor,  weak  woman — 
oh,  have  mercy  !  My  heart  bleeds  from 
a  thousand  wounds — comfort,  heal  it !  I 
am  alone,  and  oh,  how  lonely  ! — be  with 
me,  my  brother,  and  protect  and  shield 
me  !  Oh,  my  brother  !  my  brother  !  it 
is  my  life,  my  youth,  my  future  which 
cries  out  to  you !  Mercy !  grace ! 
Drive  me  not  to  extremity  !  Be  merci- 
ful, as  God  is  merciful !  Force  me  not 
into  rebellion  against  God,  against  Na- 
ture, against  myself!  Make  me  not  an 
unnatural  daugliter,  an  unthankful  sis- 
ter, a  disobedient  subject !  My  God  ! 
my  God!  Oh,  let  your  heart  be  touch- 
ed !  I  cannot  wed  the  King  of  Den- 
mark— say  not  that  I  shall !  " 

"  And  if  I  still  say  it  ?  If,  by  the 
power  of  my  authority,  as  your  brother 
and  your  king,  I  command  you  to 
obey  ? " 

"  I  may  perhaps  die,  but  yoiu*  com- 
mand wiU  have  no  other  result,"  said 
she,  rising  slowly,  and  meeting  the 
raging  glance  of  the  king  with  a  proud 
and  calm  aspect.  "  You  have  not  lis- 
tened to  my  prayers ;  well,  then,  I  pray 
no  more.  But  I  swear  to  you,  and  God 
in  heaven  hears  my  oath,  I  will  never 
marry  I  Now,  my  king,  try  how  far 
your  power  reaches ;  what  you  may  do 
and  dare;  how  far  you  may  prevail 
with  a  woman  who  struggles  against 
the  tyranny  of  her  destiny  !  You  can 
lead  an  army  into  desperate  battle; 
you  can  conquer  provinces,  and  make 
thrones  totter  to  their  base,  but  you 
cannot  force  a  woman  to  do  what  she 
is  resolved  against  1    You  cannot  break 


my  will !  I  repeat  my  oath — I  swear  I 
will  never  marry !  " 

A  cry  of  rage  burst  from  the  lips  of 
the  king ;  with  a  hasty  movement  he 
advanced  and  seized  the  arm  of  the 
princess;  then,  however,  as  if  ashamed 
of  his  impetuosity,  he  released  her  and 
stepped  backwaid. 

"  Madame,"  said  he,  "  you  will  wed 
the  King  of  Denmark.  This  is  my  un- 
changeable purpose,  my  inexorable  com- 
mand !  The  time  of  mourning  for  hia 
dead  wife  is  passed ;  and  he  has,  through 
a  special  ambassador,  renewed  his  suit 
for  your  hand.  I  will  receive  the  am- 
bassador to-morrow  morning  in  solemn 
audience.  I  will  say  to  him  that  I  am 
ready  to  bestow  the  hand  of  my  sister 
upon  the  King  of  Denmark.  To-mor- 
row jou  will  be  the  bride  and  in  four 
weeks  you  will  be  the  wife  of  the  King 
of  Denmark ! " 

"  And  if  I  repeat  to  you,  that  I  will 
never  be  his  wife  ?  " 

"  Madame,  when  the  king  commands, 
no  one  in  his  realm  dare  say  •  I  will 
not ! '  Farewell — to-morrow  morning, 
then  ! "  He  bowed,  left  the  room,  and 
closed  the  door  behind  him. 

Amelia  sighed  heavily,  then  slowly 
and  quietly,  even  as  she  had  come,  she 
walked  through  the  coiTidors,  and  san 
she  passed  by  her  maids  she  greeted 
them  with  a  soft  smile.  Ernestine 
wished  to  follow  her  to  her  boudoir, 
but  she  nodded  to  her  to  remain  out- 
side ;  she  entered  and  closed  the  door. 
She  was  alone;  a  wild  shriek  burst 
from  her  lijjs ;  with  a  despairing  move- 
ment she  raised  her  arms  to  heaven, 
then  sank  powerless,  motionless  to  the 
floor. 

How  long  she  lay  there ;  what  mar- 
tyrdom, what  tortures  her  heart  en- 
dured in  those  hours  of  solitude,  whc 
can  know  ?  It  was  twilight  when 
Princess  Amelia  opened  the  door  and 
bade  her  friend,  Fraulein  von  Haak, 
enter. 


288 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


"  Oh,  princess,  dearly-beloved  prin- 
cess," she  said,  weeping  bitterly,  press- 
ing Amelia's  hand  to  her  lips,  ''  God  be 
thanked  that  I  see  you  again  ! " 

"Poor  child  !"  said  Amelia,  gently, 
"  poor  child  !  Yoii  thought  I  would  de- 
stroy myself!  is  it  not  so,  Ernestine  ? 
No,  no,  I  must  live !  A  dark  and  sad 
foreboding  tells  me  that  a  day  will 
come  when  Trenck  will  need  me ;  when 
my  life,  my  strength,  my  assistance  will 
be  necessary  to  him.  I  will  be  strong ! 
I  will  live  and  await  that  day !  " 

With  calm  indifference  she  now  be- 
gan to  speak  of  trifling  things,  and  lis- 
tened kindly  to  all  Ernestine  related. 
There  was,  however,  a  certain  solem- 
nity in  her  movements,  in  her  smile,  in 
every  word  she  uttered ;  her  eyes 
turned  from  time  to  time  with  an  in- 
describable expression  to  heaven,  and 
anxious,  alarmed  sighs  fell  trembling 
from  her  lips. 

At  last  the  long  and  dreary  hours  of 
the  evening  were  over.  It  was  night. 
Amelia  could  dismiss  her  maids  and  be 
once  more  alone.  They  brought  the 
spirit-lamp,  upon  which  stood  the  ves- 
sel containing  the  steaming  mixture 
for  her  eyes ;  she  directed  them  to  place 
it  near,  and  go  quietly  to  sleep.  She 
would  undress  herself  and  read  awhile 
before  she  went  to  bed.  She  embraced 
Fraulein  von  Haak,  and  charged  her  to 
sleep  peacefully. 

"You  have  promised,"  whispered 
Ernestine,  lightly,  "  you  will  live  ! " 

"  I  will  live,  for  Trenck  will  one  day 
need  me.     Good-night ! " 

She  kissed  Ernestine  upon  the  brow, 
and  smiled  upon  her  till  the  door 
closed — then  pressed  the  bolt  forward 
hastily,  and  rushed  forward  to  the  large 
mirror,  which  reflected  her  image  clear- 
ly and  distinctly.  With  a  curious  ex- 
pression she  contemplated  her  still 
lovely,  youthful,  and  charming  image, 
and  her  lips  lightly  Avhispered,  "  Fare- 
well, thou  whom  Trenck  loved  !   Fare- 


well, farewell ! "  She  greeted  her  im- 
age with  a  weary  smile,  then  stepped 
firmly  to  the  table,  where  the  mixture 
hissed  and  bubbled,  and  the  dangerous 
steam  ascended. 

The  next  morning  loud  shrieks  and 
groans  were  heard  in  the  bedroom  of 
the  princess.  Amelia's  maids  had  come 
to  arrange  her  toilet,  and  found  her 
stretched  upon  her  couch,  with  dis- 
figured face,  with  bloody  eyes,  which, 
swollen,  and  rigid,  appeared  almost 
torn  from  their  sockets  !  They  ran  for 
the  physician,  for  the  queen,  for  the 
king;  all  was  confusion,  excitement, 
anguish. 

Ernestine  knelt  weeping  by  the  bed 
of  the  princess,  and  implored  her  to 
say  what  frightful  accident  had  so  dis- 
figured her.  Princess  Amelia  was  in- 
capable of  reply  !  Her  lips  were  con- 
vulsively pressed  together;  she  could 
only  stammer  out  a  few  inai'ticulate 
sounds. 

At  last  Meckel  arrived,  and  when  he 
saw  the  inflamed,  swollen  face,  the  eye- 
balls starting  from  their  sockets,  and 
then  the  vessel  containing  the  powerful 
mixture  upon  the  table,  he  was  filled 
with  horror. 

"  Ah,  the  unhappy  !  "  murmured  he  ; 
"  she  did  not  regard  my  warning.  She 
drew  too  near  the  noxious  vapor,  and  it 
has  entered  not  only  her  eyes  but  her 
windpipe;  she  will  suffer  much,  and 
never  be  wholly  restored  I  " 

Amelia  understood  these  words,  which 
were  addressed  to  Fraulein  von  Haak, 
and  a  horrible  wild  laugh  burst  from 
her  bloody,  skinless  lips. 

"  Will  she  recover  ? "  asked  Fraulein 
von  Haak. 

"  She  will  recover,  but  her  eyes  will 
be  always  deformed  and  her  voice  is 
destroyed.  I  will  hasten  to  the  apothe- 
cary's and  prepare  soothing  ointments." 

He  withdrew,  and  now  another  door 
ojjened,  and  the  king  entered.  With 
hasty  steps,   and   greatly  excited,  he 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT  AKD   HIS  FRIENDS. 


281i 


drew  near  the  bed  of  the  princess.  As 
he  looked  upon  her  deformed  counte- 
nance, her  bleeding,  rigid  eyes,  he  uttered 
a  cry  of  horror,  and  bowed  down  over 
his  sister. 

She  gazed  up  at  him  steadily ;  tried 
to  open  her  lips ;  tried  to  speak,  but 
only  a  dull,  hollow  sound  was  heard. 
Kow  she  slightly  raised  herself  up  with 
a  powerful  effort  of  strength,  and  moved 
her  hand  slowly  over  the  white  wall 
near  her  bed. 

"  She  wishes  to  write,"  said  the  king ; 
"perhaps  she  will  tell  the  cause  of  her 
sufferings.  Give  her  something  quick- 
ly !  there — a  coal  from  the  chimney  !  " 

Fraulein  von  Haak  brought  the  coal, 
and  Amelia  wrote,  with  trembling  hand, 
in  great,  irregular  letters,  these  words 
upon  the  wall : 

"  Now  I  will  not  wed  the  King  of 
Denmark  ! — now  I  shall  never  marry ! " 
then  fell  back  on  her  pillow  with  a  hol- 
low laugh,  which  deformed  her  swollen 
and  convulsed  features  in  a  frightful 
manner. 

The  king  sank  on  a  chair  near  the 
bed,  and,  clasping  liis  hands  over  his 
face,  he  abandoned  himself  to  despair. 
He  saw,  he  comprehended  all !  He 
knew  that  she  had  intentionally  dis- 
figured herself;  that  she  had  offered  up 
her  beauty  to  her  love !  For  this  reason 
she  had  so  piteously  pleaded  with  him  ! 
— for  this  reason  had  she  clamored  for 
pity ! — pity  for  her  youth,  her  future, 
her  life's  happiness  !  Love  and  faith 
she  had  offered  up  !  Greater,  braver 
than  Juliet,  she  had  not  given  herself 
up  to  death,  but  to  deformity !  She 
had  destroyed  her  body,  in  order  to 
treasure  love  and  constancy  in  her  heart 
for  her  beloved!  All  this  the  king 
knew,  and  a  profound  and  boundless 
sorrow  for  this  young  woman,  so  strong 
m  her  love,  came  over  him.  He  bowed 
his  head  and  wept  bitterly.* 

•  La  partie  de  TListolre  de  la  Princesse  Am61ie 
qui  a  ete  la  moins  connue,  et  aur  laqneUe  le  public 
19 


CHAPTER  XT. 

BARBAKDTA. 

The  visit  which  the  proud  wife  of 
the  High-Chanceflor  Cocceji  had  made 
to  the  still  prouder  dancer,  had  brought 
the  trembling  and  irresolute  heart  of 
Barbarina  to  a  conclusion.  This  heart, 
which  had  not  been  influenced  by  her 
own  wishes  or  the  eloquent  prayers  of 
her  young  lover,  was  wounded  by  the 

a  flotte  entre  des  opicions  plus  diverses  et  moins 
admissibles,  c'est  la  cause  de  ses  inflrmites.  Hen- 
rensement  constituee  sans  eti-e  grande,  elle  n'an- 
rait  pas  du  savcir  a  los  craindre,  incme  dans  nn  iig« 
tr6s-avance;  et  elle  en  a  6l6  atteinte  bien  avant 
I'age,  qui  pent  les  I'aire  craindre.  Encore,  ne  les 
a-t-elle  pas  cues  partielleraent,  elle  en  a  6te  spon- 
tanement  accablee.  II  n'ost  pas  douteux  qu'elle 
ne  les  ait  cherchees.  J'en  doniierai  pour  preuve 
un  fait  qui  est  certain.  A  nne  6poque  oil  elle  avait 
les  yens  inflamrnos,  M.  Meckel,  qui  6talt  son 
uiodecin,  lui  ordonna  une  composition  liqnlde, 
qu'il  falldit  fairo  chauffer,  pour  en  faire  parvenir  la 
vapeur  jusqu'aus  yenx,  mais  en  tenant  ce  liquide 
aux  moins  a  sept  ou  buit  poucss  de  distance:  et  Ini 
recommanda  bien  de  nepas  I'approcherdavantage; 
et,  cependant  d6s  qu'elle  eut  cette  composition,  elle 
s'empressa  de  s'en  frotti»r  les  yenx,  cc  qui  produisit 
nn  si  funeste  effet,  qu'elle  cournt  le  plus  grand 
danger  de  devenir  aveugle ;  et  qu?  depais  elle  a 
tonjours  de  les  yens  a  moitie  sortis  de  leurs  orbites, 
et  aussi  hideux  qu'iJs  avaient  6te  beaux  j  usque  la. 
Frederic  4  qui  on  n'osa  pas  dire  combien  la  prin- 
cesse  avait  de  part  a  cette  accident,  n'a  jamais  e(i 
depuis  qu'une  aversion,  ti6s-marquee  et  nn  vrai 
mepris  pour  M  Meclvel.  que  la  princesse  fut  obligee 
de  quitter,  et  qui  n'en  elait  pas  moins  un  des  meil- 
lenrs  medecins  de  Berlin,  et  un  de?  plus  ceMbres 
anatomistes  de  rEurcjie. 

Une  autre  inflrmite  plus  etonnante,  encore,  c'est 
que  cette  princesse  perdit  presque  totalement  la 
voix;  aussi  de  sa  faute  hce  qui  Ton  a  pr6tendu  il 
lui  etait  difficile  de  parler,  et  tr^s-penible  aux 
autres  de  I'entcndrc.  Sa  voix  n'etait  plus  qn'nn 
Son  vague,  sourd  et  sepnlcral,  semblable  ii  celnl  que 
forme  une  personne  qui  fait  effort  pour  dire  comma 
a  vclx  basse  qu'elle  etrangle. 

Je  ne  parlerai  pas  de  sa  tete  cbancelante  et  se 
sou  tenant  a  peine  de  ses  jambes,  pour  lesquelles  son 
corps  appauvri  etail  un  poids  si  lourd  de  ses  bras ; 
et  de  fes  mains  plus  d'a  moitie  paralyse ;  mais 
quels  puissant s  motifs  ont  pu  amener  cette  belle  et 
aimable  princesse  S  se  faire  elle-meme  on  sort  si 
triste?  Quelle  pbilosophie  a  pu  lui  donner  asset 
de  force  pour  ie  supporter,  et  ne  jos  s'en  plaindre  f 
quelle  Anergic  tons  ces  faits  ne  prourent-ilspas?— 
Thiebanlt,  11.,  2ST-2S9. 


190 


BERLIN   AND    SANS-SOUCI  ;    OR, 


insane  pride  of  Madame  Cocceji,  and 
forced  to  a  final  resolve.  The  visit  was 
unfortunate,  and  its  results  exactly  the 
opposite  of  her  hopes. 

She  had  come  to  prove  to  Barbarina 
that  she  should  not  even  dare  to  think 
of  becoming  the  wife  of  her  son.  By 
her  wild  passion  and  abusive  words  she 
had  so  exasperated  her,  that  she  deter- 
mined to  do  that  for  revenge  which  she 
had  firmly  refused  to  love,  In  flashing 
Bcorn  she  had  sworn  this  to  the  proud 
wife  of  the  high  chancellor ;  and  her 
honor  and  her  pride  demanded  the  ful- 
filment of  her  oath. 

And  now  a  fierce  contest  commenced 
between  them — carried  on  by  both 
parties  with  bitterness  and  energy.  The 
high  chancellor  threatened  his  son  with 
his  curse.  He  solemnly  declared  he 
would  disinherit  him.  Cocceji  only 
loved  the  Barbarina  the  more  glowing- 
ly ;  and,  as  his  mother  spoke  to  him  of 
the  dancer,  and  uttered  passionate  and 
abusive  words,  he  replied  respectfully 
but  decisively  that  he  would  not  listen 
to  such  accusations  against  the  woman 
who  was  to  be  his  wife,  and  must  forbid 
them  positively.  Madame  Cocceji  was 
beside  herself  with  rage  ;  by  her  prayers 
and  persuasions,  she  induced  her  hus- 
band to  take  refuge  in  the  last  and  most 
violent  resource  that  remained — in  the 
power  of  arrest  which  the  king  had 
granted  him.  He  resolved  to  confine 
his  son  in  the  castle  of  Mt.  Landsberg, 
and  thus  Ijreak  the  magical  bands  of 
Ariadne. 

One  day,  the  Councillor  Cocceji  did 
not  appear  in  the  halls  of  justice,  and 
no  one  knew  what  had  become  of  him. 
The  servants  stated  that  a  carriage 
stopped  at  his  dwelling,  in  the  middle 
of  the  night ;  that  General  Haak  with 
two  soldiers  entered  Cocceji's  room,  and 
remained  with  him  some  time.  They 
had  then  all  entered  the  general's  car- 
riage, and  driven  away. 

•Cocceji  had,  however,  found  a  secret 


opportunity  to  slip  a  piece  of  papirinto 
the  servant's  hand,  and  to  whisper, 
"  Quick,  to  the  signora !  " 

The  faithful  servant  obeyed  this  or- 
der. The  paper  contained  only  these 
words :  "  I  am  arrested  ;  make  all  ne- 
cessary preparations ;  expect  me  daily. 
As  soon  as  I  am  free,  our  marriage  will 
take  place." 

Barbarina  made  her  preparations. 
She  undertook  frequently  little  journeys, 
and  sometimes  remained  away  from 
Berlin  several  days.  She  bought  a 
costly  and  beautiful  house,  to  prove  to 
the  wife  of  the  chancellor  that  she  had 
no  thought  of  leaving  Berlin  and  re 
turning  to  Italy. 

Some  months  went  by.  The  king, 
who  had  yielded  to  the  prayers  of  the 
Coccejis,  and  allowed  them  to  arrest 
their  son,  would  not  consent  to  his 
longer  confinement.  He  had  no  trial ; 
had  committed  no  oflfence  against  the 
laws  or  the  king ;  was  guilty  of  no  other 
crime  than  wishmg  to  marry  the  woman 
he  loved. 

So  the  young  councillor  was  released 
from  the  castle  of  Landsberg.  He  re- 
turned to  Berlin ;  and  his  first  visit  was 
not  to  his  parents,  but  to  Barbarina, 
who  received  him  in  her  new  house  in 
Behren  Street. 

A  few  hours  later,  a  carriage  stood 
before  the  door,  which  Barbarina,  ac- 
companied by  her  sister  and  Cocceji, 
entered,  and  drove  rapidly  away.  No 
one  knew  where  they  went.  Even  the 
spies  of  the  Coccejis,  who  continually 
watched  the  house  of  the  dancer,  could 
learn  nothing  from  the  servants  who 
were  left  behind.  A  few  days  after, 
they  brought  the  intelligence  that  Bar- 
barina had  returned ;  that  the  councillor 
dwelt  with  her  in  her  new  house ;  and 
the  servants  were  commanded  to  call 
the  signora  Madame  Cocceji,  as  she  was 
his  well-beloved  and  trusted  wife. 

The  wife  of  the  high  chancellor  laugh- 
ed contemptuously  at  this  narrative 


FREDERICK    THE   GREAT   AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


291 


and  declared  it  to  be  only  a  coup  de 
tMdtre.  Suddenly  an  equipage  drove 
to  the  door.  Somewhat  curious,  Ma- 
dame Cocceji  stepped  to  the  window  ; 
she  saw  that  the  coachman  and  footmen 
were  dressed  in  liveries  glittering  with 
gold,  and  that  the  panels  of  the  carriage 
were  ornamented  with  the  Cocceji  coat- 
of-arms. 

The  Signora  Barbarina  was  to  be 
seen  at  the  window.  Horrified,  the 
wife  of  the  chancellor  stepped  back  ; 
a  servant  entered  with  a  card,  which  he 
handed  her  respectfully. 

"  I  am  not  at  home ;  I  receive  no 
visits  1 "  cried  she,  after  looking  at  the 
card.  The  servant  retired,  and  the  car- 
riage rolled  away. 

"  Yes,  it  is  true.  She  has  triumphed ! " 
groaned  the  countess,  still  gazing  at  the 
card,  which  had  these  words,  "Mon- 
sieur de  Cocceji  and  Madame  de  Cocceji, 
nee  Barbarina." — "  But  she  shall  not 
succeed  ;  the  Barbarina  shall  never  be 
called  my  daughter ;  this  marriage  shall 
be  set  aside,  the  ceremony  was  not  law- 
ful, it  is  contrary  to  the  laws  of  the 
land.  Barbarina  is  a  lourgeoise,  and 
cannot  wed  a  noble  without  the  ex- 
press consent  of  the  king.  I  will 
throw  myself  at  the  feet  of  his  ma- 
jesty and  implore  him  to  annul  this 
marriage ! " 

Frederick  was  much  exasperated,  and 
inclined  to  yield  to  the  entreaties  of  his 
high-chancellor.  A  short  time  before, 
he  had  commanded  the  Catholic  clergy 
not  to  perform  any  marriage  ceremony 
without  special  permission  and  legiti- 
mation ;  and  his  anger  was  aroused  at 
their  daring  to  disobey  him,  and  in  se- 
crecy and  silence  to  marry  Barbaiina 
and  Cocceji. 

He  commanded  his  cabinet  minister 
Uhden  to  ascertain  by  what  right  the 
dancer  Barbarina  dared  to  call  herself 
Madame  Cocceji,  and,  if  she  could  estab- 
lish her  claim,  he  wished  to  be  informed 
trhat  priest  had  dared  to  bless  the  holy 


banns.  He  was  resolved  to  punish  him 
severely. 

The  minister  Uhden  was  a  warm  per- 
sonal friend  of  the  high-chancellor,  and 
more  than  willing,  therefore,  to  carry 
out  sternly  the  king's  commands.  The 
next  day  he  ordered  Barbarina  to  ap- 
pear before  him,  stating  that  he  had 
the  king's  commission  to  pronounce 
judgment  upon  her. 

When  Barbarina  read  this  order,  she 
was  lost  in  painful  silence,  and  a  pro- 
found melancholy  was  written  upon  her 
pale  face. 

"  What  will  you  do,  sister  ? "  said 
Marietta. 

"  I  will  go  to  the  king !  "  replied  Bar- 
barina, rousing  herself. 

"  But  the  king  is  at  Potsdam." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  go  to  Potsdam. 
Order  my  carriage ;  I  must  go  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour." 

"  What  shall  I  say  to  your  husbancl 
when  he  returns  home  ? " 

Barbarina  looked  at  her  steadily. 
''  Tell  him  that  Madame  Cocceji  has 
gone  to  Potsdam,  to  announce  her  mar- 
riage to  the  king,  and  ask  him  to  ac- 
knowledge it." 

"  Barbarina,"  whispered  her  sister, 
"hear  me !  Your  husband  is  troubled 
and  sorrowful ;  he  has  confided  in  me. 
He  says  he  fears  you  did  not  marry  him 
from  love,  but  for  revenge,  and  that  you 
love  him  not." 

"  1  am  resolved  to  love  him  !  I  will 
learn  how,"  said  she,  sadly.  "  I  have 
a  strong  will,  and  my  heart  shall  obey 
mel" 

She  smiled,  but  her  lovely  face  was 
overcast  with  grief,  and  Marietta's  eyes 
were  filled  with  tears. 

Frederick  was  alone  in  his  study  in 
the  castle  of  Potsdam ;  he  was  busily 
engaged  in  writing.  The  door  was 
lightly  opened,  and  the  Marquis  d'Ar- 
gens  looked  in.  When  he  saw  that  the 
king  had  heard  nothing,  he  beckoned  to 
a  lady  who  stood  behind  him  to  draw 


292 


BERLIN  AND   SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


near.  She  eiitered  the  room  silently 
and  noiselessly  ;  the  marquis  bowed  to 
her,  and,  smiling  kindly,  he  stepped 
back  and  closed  the  door. 

The  lady,  who  up  to  this  time  had 
closely  concealed  her  features,  now 
threw  back  her  veil,  and  exposed  the 
pale  but  lovely  countenance  and  flash- 
ing eyes  of  Barbarina.  She  gazed  at 
the  king  with  a  mingled  expression  of 
happiness  and  pain. 

The  king  still  heard  nothing.  Sud- 
denly he  was  aroused  by  a  low  sigh ;  it 
seemed  to  him  that  a  soft,  sweet,  long- 
silent  voice  whispered  his  name.  He 
rose  hastily  and  turned;  Barbarina  was 
kneeling  at  the  door ;  it  was  that  door 
before  which,  five  years  ago,  she  had 
kneeled  bathed  in  tears  and  wild  with 
despair.  She  was  now,  as  then,  upon 
her  knees,  weeping  bitterly,  and  raising 
her  hands  importunately  to  the  king, 
pleading  for  grace  and  pity, 

Frederick  was  at  first  pallid  from  sur- 
prise, and  a  frown  was  on  his  brow ; 
but,  as  he  looked  upon  her,  and  saw 
once  more  those  great,  dark,  unfath(mv 
able  eyes,  a  jjainful  but  sweet  emotion 
overcame  him  ;  the  cloud  was  lifted  up, 
his  coimtenance  was  illuminated,  and 
his  eyes  were  soft  and  misty. 

With  a  kindly  smile  he  drew  near  to 
Barbarina.  "Rise,"  said  he,  and  the 
tones  of  his  voice  made  her  heart  beat 
wildly,  and  brought  fresh  tears  to  her 
eyes,  "  You  come  strangely  and  unex- 
pectedly, Barbarina,  but  you  come  with 
a  beautiful  retinue,  with  a  crowd  of 
sweet,  fond  remembrances — and  I — of 
whom  men  say,  '  He  has  no  religion ' — 
I  have  at  least  the  religion  of  memory. 
I  cannot  be  angry  with  you,  Barba- 
rina; rise,  and  tell  me  why  you  are 
here." 

He  bowed,  and  took  her  by  the  hands 
and  raised  her;  and  now,  as  she  stood 
near  him,  lovely  as  ever,  her  great  eyes 
glowing  with  warmth  and  passion,  in- 
toxicating the  senses  with  her  odorous 


beauty,  the  king  felt  anguish  in  his 
heart  which  he  had  no  words  to  ex- 
press. 

They  stood  silently,  side  by  side,  theii 
eyes  fixed  upon  each  other,  Frederick 
holding  Barbarina's  hand  in  his ;  they 
seemed  to  be  whispering  mysterious 
fairy  tales  to  each  other's  hearts. 

"  I  see  you,  surrounded  by  smiling, 
sacred  genii,"  at  last  said  Frederick. 
"  These  are  the  genii  of  the  rosy  hours 
which  have  been.  Ah,  Barbarina,  thus 
attended,  your  face  seems  to  me  as  the 
face  of  an  angel.  Why  were  you  not  an 
angel,  Barbarina  ?  Why  were  you  only 
a  woman — a  passionate  woman,  who, 
not  satisfied  with  loving  and  being 
loved,  wish  also  to  govern ;  who  was 
not  content  to  be  worshipped  by  the 
man,  but  wished  to  subject  the  king, 
whom  you  thus  forced  to  forget  his 
humanity,  to  trample  upon  and  torture 
his  own  heart  in  order  to  remain  king  ? 
Oh,  Barbarina,  why  were  you  this  proud, 
exacting  woman,  rather  than  the  angel 
which  you  now  truly  are  ?  " 

She  raised  her  hands,  as  if  implor- 
ing him  to  be  silent.  "  I  understand 
all  that  now,  I  have  thought  of  it, 
night,  and  day ;  I  know  and  I  confess 
that  you  acted  right,  sire.  And  now 
I  am  no  longer  an  imperious  woman, 
but  a  humiliated  one  I  In  my  helpless- 
ness, with  my  pride  subdued,  I  come  to 
you  !  I  come  to  you,  sire,  as  one  goes 
to  God,  weary  and  heavy  laden.  I 
come  to  you,  as  a  poor  sinner  goes  into 
God's  holy  temple,  to  confess  his  sins ; 
to  ])ave  his  burden  lightened ;  to  pray 
for  help  that  he  may  subdue  his  own 
heart !  Oh,  sire,  this  is  a  sacred,  con- 
secrated hour  lor  we,  and  what  I  now 
say  to  you,  only  God  and  yourself  may 
hear ! " 

"  Speak,  Barbarina,  and  may  God 
hear  and  answer  I  " 

"  Sire,  I  come  for  help!  " 

"  Ah,  for  help  !  "  exclaimed  the  king, 
and  a  mocking  expression  played  upon 


FREDERICK   THE   GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


293 


ais  lips.     "  I  had  forgotten.    Tou  wish 
tc  be  called  Madame  Cocceji  ? " 

"  I  am  called  thus,  sire,"  said  she, 
Boftly ;  "  but  they  are  about  to  declare 
my  marriage  illegal,  and  by  the  power 
of  the  law  to  set  it  aside." 

"  And  for  this  reason  you  come  to 
me  ? "  said  the  king.  "  You  fear  for 
your  beautiful  title  ? " 

"  Ah,  sire,  you  do  not  think  bo  piti- 
fully of  me  as  to  suppose  I  care  for  a 
title  I  " 

"  You  married  the  Councillor  Cocce- 
ji, then,  from  love  ? "  said  the  king. 

Barbarina  looked  at  the  king  stead- 
ily. "  No,  sire,  I  did  not  marry  him 
for  love." 

''  Why,  then,  did  you  marry  him  ? " 

"  To. save  myself,  sire — to  save  my- 
self, and  because  I  could  not  learn  to 
forget.  Your  majesty  has  just  said 
that  you  have  the  religion  of  memory. 
Sire,  I  am  the  anguish-stricken,  tor- 
tured, fanatical  priestess  of  the  same 
faith.  I  have  lain  daily  before  her 
altar,  I  have  scourged  my  heart  with 
remembrances,  and  blinded  my  eyes 
with  weeping.  At  last  a  day  came  in 
which  I  roused  myself  I  resolved  to 
abandon  my  altar,  to  flee  from  the  past, 
and  teach  my  heart  to  forget.  I  went 
to  England,  accepted  Lord  Stuart's  pro- 
posals, and  resolved  to  be  his  wife.  It 
was  in  vain,  wholly  in  vain.  Wliatso- 
ever  my  trembling  lips  might  say,  my 
heart  lay  ever  bleeding  before  the  mltar 
of  my  memory.  The  Past  followed  me 
over  the  wide  seas,  she  beckoned  and 
greeted  me  with  mysterious  sighs  and 
pleadings;  she  called  out  to  me,  with 
two  great,  wondrous  eyes,  clear  and 
blue  as  the  heavens,  unfathomable  as 
the  sea !  These  eyes,  sire,  called  me 
back,  and  I  could  not  resist  them.  I 
felt  that  I  would  rather  die  by  them 
than  relinquish  them  forever.  So,  on 
my  wedding-day,  I  fled  from  England, 
and  returned  to  Berlin.  The  old  magic 
came  over  me ;    also,  alas !    the    old 


grief.  I  felt  that  I  must  do  something 
to  save  myself,  if  I  would  not  go  mad. 
I  resolved  to  bind  my  wayward  heart  in 
chains,  to  make  my  love  a  prisoner  to 
duty,  and  silence  the  outcries  of  my 
soul !  But  I  still  wavered.  Then  came 
Madame  Cocceji.  By  her  insolent 
bearing  she  roused  my  pride,  until  it 
overshadowed  even  my  despair,  and  I 
heard  no  other  voice.  So,  sire,  I  mar- 
ried Cocceji !  I  have  taken  refuge  in 
this  marriage,  as  in  a  safe  haven,  where 
I  shall  rest  peacefully  and  fear  no 
storm. 

"  But,  my  king,  struggle  as  I  may  to 
begin  a  new  life,  the  religion  of  mem- 
ory will  not  relinquish  her  priestess ; 
she  extends  her  mystical  hands  over  me, 
and  my  poor  heart  shouts  back  to  her 
against  my  will.  Sire,  save  me !  I 
have  fled  to  this  marriage  as  one  flies 
to  a  cloister-cell,  to  escape  the  sweet 
love  of  this  world.  Oh,  sire,  do  not  al- 
low them  to  drive  me  from  this  refuge ; 
leave  me  in  peace  to  God  and  my  duty  ! 
Alas!  my  soul  has  repented,  she  lies 
wearied  and  ill  at  your  feet.  Help  her, 
heal  her,  I  implore  you  1 " 

She  was  silent.  She  extended  her 
hands  toward  the  king.  He  looked  at 
her  sadly,  kindly  took  her  hands  in 
his,  and  pressed  his  lips  upon  them. 

"  Barbarina,"  said  he,  in  a  rich,  mel- 
low voice — "Barbarina,  I  thank  you. 
God  and  the  king  have  heard  you. 
You  say  that  you  are  the  priestess  of 
the  religion  of  remembrance;  well, 
then,  I  am  her  priest,  and  I  confess  to 
you  that  I,  also,  have  passed  many 
nights  in  anguish  before  her  altar. 
Life  demands  heavy  sacrifices,  and 
more  from  kings  than  from  other  men. 
Once  in  my  life  I  made  so  rich  an  offer- 
ing to  my  royalty  that  it  seemed  life 
could  have  no  more  of  bitterness  in 
store.  The  thoughtless  and  fools  con- 
sider life  a  pleasure.  But  I,  Barbarina, 
I  say,  that  life  is  a  duty.  Let  us  fulfil 
our  duties." 


294 


BERLIN  AND   SAXS-SOUCI ;    OR, 


*'  Yes,  we  will  go  and  fulfil  them," 
said  she,  with  flashing  eyes.  "  Sire,  I 
will  go  to  fulfil  mine ;  but  I  am  weak, 
and  have  yet  one  more  favor  to  ask. 
There  is  no  cup  of  Lethe  from  which 
men  drink  forgetfulness,  and  yet  I  must 
forget.  I  must  cast  a  veil  over  the 
past.  Help  me,  sire — I  must  leave  Ber- 
lin !  Banish  ray  husband  to  another 
city.  It  will  be  an  open  grave  for  me ; 
but  I  will  struggle  to  plant  that  grave 
with  flowers,  whose  beauty  and  per- 
fume shall  rejoice  and  make  glad  the 
heart  of  my  husband  ! " 

"  I  grant  your  request,"  said  the 
king,  sadly. 

"  I  thank  you,  sire  ;  and  now,  fare- 
well ! " 

"  Farewell,  Barbarina !  " 

He  took  again  her  hands  in  his,  and 
looked  long  into  her  fair,  enchanting 
face,  now  glowing  with  enthusiasm. 
Neither  spoke  one  word;  they  took 
leave  of  each  other  with  soft  glances 
and  melanclioly  sighs. 

"Farewell,  sire!"  said  Barbarina, 
after  a  long  pause,  withdrawing  her 
hands  from  the  king's,  and  stepping 
toward  the  door.  The  king  followed 
lier. 

"  Give  me  your  hand,"  said  he,  "  I 
will  go  with  you  !  " 

Frederick  led  her  into  the  adjoining 
room,  in  which  there  w^ere  two  doors. 
One  led  to  a  small  stairway,  which 
opened  upon  a  side-door  of  the  castle ; 
to  the  other  great  saloon  in  which  the 
cavaliers  and  followers  of  the  king 
were  wont  to  assemble. 

Barbarina  had  entered  by  the  small 
stairway,  and  now  turned  her  steps  in 
that  direction.  "No,  not  that  way," 
said  Frederick.  "  My  staff  await  me  in 
the  saloon.  It  is  the  hour  for  parade. 
I  will  show  you  my  court." 

Barbarina  thanked  him,  and  followed 
silently  to  the  other  door.  The  gener- 
als, in  their  glittering  uniforms;  and 
the  cavaliers,  with   their   embroidered 


rests  and  brilliant  orders,  bowed  pro- 
foundly, and  no  one  dared  to  manifest 
the  surprise  he  felt  as  the  king  and 
Barbarina  entered. 

Frederick  led  Barbarina  into  the 
middle  of  the  saloon,  and,  letting  go  her 
hand,  he  said  aloud  :  "  Madame,  I  have 
the  honor  to  commend  myself  to  you. 
Your  wish  shall  be  fulfilled.  Your  hus- 
band shall  be  President  of  Glogau!  it 
shall  be  arranged  to-day."  The  king 
cast  a  proud  and  searching  glance 
around  the  circle  of  his  cavaliers,  until 
they  rested  upon  the  master  of  cere- 
monies. "  Baron  Pollnitz,  conduct  Ma- 
dame Presidentess  Cocceji  to  her  car- 
riage." 

Pollnitz  stumbled  forward  and  placed 
himself  with  a  profound  salutation  at 
Barbarina's  side. 

Frederick  bowed  once  more  to  Bar- 
barina; she  took  the  arm  of  Barcm  Poll- 
nitz. Silence  reigned  in  the  saloon  as 
Barbarina  withdrew. 

The  king  gazed  after  her  till  she  had 
entirely  disappeared ;  then  breathing 
heavily,  he  turned  to  his  generals  and 
said:  "Messieurs,  it  is  time  for  pa- 
rade." 


CHAPTER  XH. 


rNTKIGUES. 


"VipLTAiRE  was  fai  thful  to  his  purpose  : 
he  made  use  of  his  residence  in  Prussia 
and  the  favor  of  the  king  to  increase 
his  fortune,  and  to  injure  and  degrade, 
as  far  as  possible,  all  those  for  whom 
the  king  manifested  the  slightest  par- 
tiality. He  not  only  added  to  his  rich- 
es by  the  most  abject  niggardliness  in 
his  mode  of  life,  thereby  adding  his 
pension  to  his  capital,  but  by  specula- 
tion in  Saxon  bonds,  for  which,  in  the 
beginning,  he  employed  the  aid  of  the 
Jew  Hirsch.  We  have  seen  that  he 
sent  him  to  Dresden  to  purchase  eigh- 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


295 


teen  thousand  thalers'  worth  of  bonds, 
and  gave  him  three  drafls  for  that  pur- 
pose. 

One  of  these  was  drawn  upon  the 
banker  Ephraim,  He  thus  learned  of 
Voltaire's  Speculation,  and,  as  a  cunning 
trafficker,  he  resolved  to  turn  this  knowl- 
edge to  his  own  advantage.  He  went 
to  Voltaire,  and  proposed  to  give  hira 
twenty  thousand  thalers'  worth  of  Sax- 
on bonds,  and  demanded  no  payment 
for  them  till  Voltaire  should  receive 
their  full  value  from  Dresden.  The 
only  profit  he  desired  was  Voltaire's 
good  word  and  influence  for  him  with 
the  king. 

This  Wiis  a  most  profitable  invest- 
ment, and  the  great  French  writer  could 
not  resist  it.  He  took  the  bonds ;  prom- 
ised his  protection  and  favor,  and  im- 
mediately sent  to  Paris  to  protest  the 
draft  he  had  given  the  Jew  Hirsch. 

Poor  Hirsch  had  already  bought  the 
bonds  in  Dresden,  and  he  was  now 
placed  in  the  most  extreme  embarrass- 
ment, not  only  by  the  protested  drafts, 
but  by  Voltaire's  refusing  to  receive  the 
bonds  and  to  pay  for  them. 

Voltaire  tried  to  appease  him ;  prom- 
ised to  repair  his  loss,  and  yet  further 
to  indemnify  him.  He  declared  he 
would  purchase  some  of  the  diamonds 
left  in  his  care  by  Hirsch,  and  he  really 
did  this;  he  bought  three  thousand 
thalers'  worth  of  diamonds  and  returned 
the  rest  to  Hirsch.  A  few  days  after  he 
sent  to  him  for  a  diamond  cross  and  a 
few  rings  which  he  proposed  to  buy. 
Hirsch  sent  them,  and,  not  hearing  fi'om 
either  the  diamonds  or  the  money,  he 
went  to  Voltaire  to  get  either  the  one 
or  the  other. 

Voltaire  received  him  furiously;  de- 
clared that  the  diamonds  which  he  had 
purchased  were  false,  and  in  order  to 
reimburse  himself  he  had  retained  the 
others  and  would  never  return  them  ! 
In  wild  rage  he  continued  to  raise  his 
doubled  fist  to  heaven  in  confirmation, 


or  held  it  under  the  nose  of  the  poor 
terrified  Jew  ;  and,  to  crown  all,  he  tore 
from  his  finger  another  diamond  ring, 
and  pushed  him  from  the  door. 

And  now  the  Jew  indeed  was  to  be 
pitied.  He  demanded  of  the  courts  the 
restoration  of  his  diamonds,  and  pay- 
ment for  the  Saxon  bonds. 

A  wearisome  and  vexatious  process 
was  the  result.  Voltaire's  plots  and  in- 
trigues involved  the  case  more  and 
more,  and  he  brought  the  judges  them- 
selves almost  to  despair.  Voltaire  de- 
clared that  the  Jew  had  sold  him  false 
diamonds.  The  Jew  asserted  that  the 
false  diamonds  exhilnted  by  Voltaire, 
were  not  those  Voltaire  had  purchased 
of  him,  and  which  the  jeweller  Reclam 
had  valued.  No  one  was  present  at 
this  trade,  so  there  were  no  witnesses. 
The  judges  were,  therefore,  obliged  to 
confine  themselves  to  administering  the 
oath  to  Voltaire,  as  he  would  not  con- 
sent to  any  compromise.  But  he  re- 
sisted the  taking  of  the  oath  also. 

"  What !  "  said  he,  "  I  must  swear 
upon  the  Bible ;  upon  this  book  written 
in  such  wretched  Latin !  If  it  were 
Homer  or  Virgil,  I  would  have  nothing 
against  it." 

When  the  judge  assured  him,  that  if 
he  refused  the  oath,  they  would  admin- 
ister it  to  the  Jew,  he  exclaimed, 
^  What  !  you  will  allow  the  oath  of  this 
miserable  creature,  who  crucified  the 
Saviour,  to  decide  this  question?" 

He  took  the  oath  at  last,  and  as  the 
Jew  Ephraim  swore  at  the  same  time 
that  Voltaire  had  shown  him  the  dia- 
monds, and  he  had  at  once  declared 
them  to  be  false,  the  Jew  Hirsch  lost 
his  case,  and  Voltaire  triumphed.  He 
wrote  the  following  letter  to  Algarotti : 

"  If  one  had  listened  to  my  envious 
enemies,  they  would  have  heard  that  I 
was  about  to  lose  a  great  process,  and 
that  I  had  defrauded  an  honest  Jewish 
banker.  The  king,  who  naturally  takes 
the  part  of  th>3  Old  Testament,  would 


296 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


have  looked  upon  me  witli  disfavor. 
I  should  have  been  lost,  and  FrSron 
would  have  derisively  declared  that  I 
sickened  and  died  of  rage.  Instead  of 
this,  I  still  live;  and  during  my  last  ill- 
ness the  king  manifested  such  warm 
and  affectionate  interest  in  me,  that  I 
should  be  the  most  ungrateful  of 
men,  if  I  do  not  remain  a  few  months 
longer  with  him  !  I  am  the  only  animal 
of  my  race  whom  he  has  ever  lodged 
in  his  castle  in  Berlin;  and  when  he 
left  for  Potsdam,  and  I  could  not 
follow  him,  his  equipage,  cooks,  etc., 
etc.,  remained  for  my  use.  He  had  my 
furniture  and  other  effects  removed  to  a 
beautiful  country-seat  near  Sans-Souci, 
which  was,  for  the  time  being,  mine. 
Besides  this,  a  lodging  was  reserved 
for  me  at  Potsdam,  where  I  slept  a  part 
of  every  week.  In  short,  if  I  were  not 
three  hundred  leagues  away  from  you, 
whom  I  love  so  tenderly,  and  if  I  were 
in  good  health,  I  would  l)e  the  happi- 
est of  men  !  I  ask  pardon,  therefore, 
of  my  enemies ;  these  men  of  small  wit ; 
these  sly  foxes,  who  cry  out  because  I 
have  a  pension  of  twenty  thousand 
francs,  and  they  have  nothing  1  I  wear 
a  golden  cross  on  my  breast,  while  they 
have  not  even  a  handkerchief  in  their 
pockets.  I  wear  a  great  blue  cross,  set 
round  with  diamonds,  around  my  neck  : 
for  this  they  would  strangle  me.  These 
miserable  creatures  ought  to  know  that 
I  would  cheerfully  give  up  the  cross, 
the  key,  the  pension ;  these  things 
would  cost  me  no  regret,  but  I  am 
bound  and  attached  to  this  great  man, 
who  in  all  things  strives  to  promote  my 
welfare."  * 

But  this  paradise  of  bliss,  so  extrav- 
agantly praised  by  Voltaire,  was  not 
entirely  without  clouds,  and  some  fierce 
storms  had  been  necessary  to  clear  the 
atmosphere. 

The  king  was  very  angry  with   Vol- 


•  Voltaire,  (Euvrea,  p.  i2i. 


taire,  and  wrote  the  following  letter  to 
him  from  Potsdam : 

"  I  knew  how  to  maintain  peace  in 
my  house  till  your  arrival ;  and  I  must 
confess  to  you  that,  if  you  continue  to 
intrigue  and  cabal,  you  will  be  no  long- 
er welcome.  I  prefer  kind  and  gentle 
people,  who  are  not  passionate  and 
tragic  in  their  daily  life.  In  case  you 
should  resolve  to  live  as  a  philosopher, 
I  will  rejoice  to  see  you  !  But  if  you  give 
full  sway  to  your  passion  and  are  hot- 
brained  with  everybody,  you  will  do  bet- 
ter to  remain  in  Berlin.  Your  arrival  in 
Potsdam  will  give  me  no  pleasure."  * 

Only  after  Voltaire  had  solemnly 
sworn  to  preserve  the  peace,  was  he 
allowed  to  return  to  Potsdam.  Keep- 
ing the  peace  was  not,  however,  in  har- 
mony with  Voltaire's  character;  plot- 
ting was  a  necessity  with  him ;  he 
could  not  resist  it. 

After  he  had  succeeded  in  setting 
Arnaud  aside  and  compelling  him  to 
leave  Berlin,  he  turned  his  rage  and 
sarcasm  against  the  other  friends  of  the 
king.  One  of  them  was  removed  by 
death.  This  was  La  Mettrie ;  he  par- 
took immoderately  of  a  truffle-pie  at  the 
house  of  the  French  ambassador,  Lord 
Tyrconnel,  and  died  in  consequence  of  a 
blood-letting  which  he  ordered  him- 
self, in  opposition  to  the  opinion  of  hia 
physician.  He  laughingly  said,  "  I  will 
accustom  my  indigestion  to  blood-let- 
ting." He  died  at  the  first  experiment. 
His  death  was  in  harm(my  with  his 
life  and  his  principles.  He  dismissed 
the  priest  rudely  who  came  to  him  un- 
called, and  entreated  him  to  be  recon- 
ciled to  God.  Convulsed  by  his  last 
agonies,  he  called  out,  "  O  my  God ! 
O  Jesus  Maria !  " 

"  He  repents  !  "  cried  the  delighted 
priest;  "he  calls  upon  God  and  His 
blessed  Son." 

"No,  no,  no,  father!  "  stammered  La 

♦  (Euvres  Posthumes,  p.  838. 


FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


297 


NTattrie,  with  dying  lips;  "that  was 
only  a  form  of  speech."  * 

Voltaire's  envy  and  jealousy  were 
now  turned  against  the  Marquis  d'Ar- 
gens,  who  was  indeed  the  dearest  friend 
of  the  king.  At  first  he  tried  to  preju- 
dice the  king  against  him  ;  he  betrayed 
to  him  that  the  marquis  had  privately 
married  the  actress  Barbe  Cochois. 

The  king  was  at  tlie  moment  very 
angry,  but  the  prayers  of  Algarotti, 
and  the  regret  of  the  poor  naarquis, 
reconciled  him  at  last ;  he  not  only  for- 
gave, but  he  allowed  the  marquise  to 
dwell  at  Sans-Souci  with  her  husband. 

When  Voltaire  found  that  he  could 
not  deprive  the  marquise  of  the  king's 
favor,  he  resolved  to  occasion  him  some 
trouble,  and  to  wound  his  vanity  and 
sensibility.  He  knew  that  the  marquis 
was  an  ardent  admirer  of  the  French 
writer  Jean  Baptiste  Rousseau.  One  day 
Voltaire  entered  the  room  of  the  mar- 
quis, and  said,  in  a  sixd,  sjTnpathetic 
tone,  that  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  unde- 
ceive him  as  to  Jean  Baptiste  Rousseau, 
to  prove  to  him  that  his  love  and  re- 
spect for  the  great  writer  were  returned 
with  the  blackest  ingratitude.  He 
had  just  received  from  his  correspond- 
ent at  Paris  an  epigram  which  Rous- 
seau had  made  upon  the  marquis.  It 
was  true  the  epigram  was  only  hand- 
ed about  in  manuscript,  and  Rousseau 
swore  every  one  who  read  it  not  to  be- 
tray him ;  he  was  showing  it,  howev- 
er, and  it  was  thought  it  would  be 
published.  He,  Voltaire,  had  commis- 
sioned his  correspondent  to  do  every 
thing  in  his  power  to  prevent  the  pub- 
lication of  this  epigram  ;  or,  if  this  took 
place,  to  use  every  means  to  excite  the 
public,  as  well  as  the  friends  of  the 
marquis,  against  Rousseau,  because  of 
his  shameful  treachery. 

At  all  events,  this  epigram,  which 
Voltaire  now  read  aloud  to  the  mar- 

•  Nlcolai,  p.  20. 


quis,  and  which  described  him  ua  tbo 
Wandering  Jew,  was  as  malicious  aa 
it  was  mischievous  and  slanderous. — 
The  good  marquis  was  deeply  wounded, 
and  swore  to  take  a  great  revenge  on 
Rousseau.     Voltaire  triumphed. 

But,  after  a  few  days,  he  suspected 
that  the  whole  was  an  artifice  of  Vol- 
taire. In  accordance  with  his  open, 
noble  character,  he  wrote  immediately 
to  Rousseau,  made  his  complaint,  and 
asked  if  he  had  written  the  epigram. 

Rousseau  swore  that  he  was  not  the 
author,  but  he  was  persuaded  that  Vol- 
taire had  written  it ;  he  had  sent  some 
copies  to  Paris,  and  his  friends  were 
seeking  to  spread  it  abroad.* 

The  marquis  was  on  his  guard,  and 
did  not  communicate  this  news  to  Vol- 
taire. He  resolved  to  escape  from  these 
assaults  and  intrigues  quietly;  with  his 
young  wife  he  made  a  journey  to 
Paris,  and  did  not  return  till  Voltaire 
had  left  Berlin  forever. 

The  most  powerful  and  therefore  the 
most  abhorred  of  the  enemies  against 
whom  Voltaire  now  turned  liis  rage, 
was  the  president  of  the  Berlin  Acad- 
emy, Maupertius.  Voltaire  could  nev- 
er forgive  him  for  daring  to  shine  in 
his  presence;  for  being  the  president 
of  an  academy  of  which  he,  Voltaire, 
was  only  a  simple  member.  Above  all 
this,  the  king  loved  him,  and  praised 
his  extraordinary  talent  and  scholar- 
ship. Voltaire  only  watched  for  an  op- 
portunity to  clutch  this  dangerous  ene- 
my, and  the  occasion  soon  presented 
itself. 

Maupertius  had  just  published  his 
"  Lettres  PhilosopMques^''  in  which  it 
must  be  confessed  there  were  passages 
which  justified  Voltaire's  assertion  that 
Maupertius  was  at  one  time  insane,  and 
was  confined  for  some  years  in  a  mad- 
house at  ^lontpellier,  Maupertius  pro- 
posed  in  these  letters  that  a  Latin  citj 

*  Thl6baalU 


298 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


should  be  built,  and  this  majestic  and 
beautiful  tongue  brought  to  life  again. 
He  proposed,  also,  that  a  hole  should 
be  dug  to  the  centre  of  tlie  earth,  in 
order  to  discover  its  condition  and 
quality ;  also  that  the  brain  of  Py- 
thagoras should  be  searched  for  and 
opened,  in  order  to  ascertain  the  na- 
ture of  the  soul. 

These  ridiculous  and  fabulous  propo- 
sitions Voltaire  replied  to  under  the 
name  of  Dr.  Akakia ;  he  asserted  that 
he  was  only  anxious  to  heal  the  unhap- 
py Mauportius.  This  publication  was 
written  in  Voltaire's  sharpest  wit  and 
his  most  biting,  glittering  irony,  and 
was  calculated  to  make  Maupertius  ab- 
surd in  the  eyes  of  the  whole  world. 

The  king,  to  whom  Voltaire  had 
shown  his  manuscript,  felt  this;  and 
although  he  had  listened  to  the  "  Aka- 
kia "  with  the  most  lively  pleasure,  and 
often  interrupted  the  reading  by  loud 
laughter  and  applause,  he  asked  Vol- 
taire to  destroy  the  manuscript.  He 
was  not  willing  that  the  man  who  stood 
at  the  head  of  his  academy,  and  whom 
he  had  once  called  "  the  light  of  sci- 
ence," should  be  held  up  to  the  laugh- 
ter and  mockery  of  the  world. 

"  I  ask  this  sacrifice  from  you  as  a 
proof  of  your  friendship  for  me,  and 
your  self-control,"  said  the  king,  ear- 
nestly. "  I  am  tired  of  this  everlasting 
disputing  and  wrangling ;  I  will  have 
peace  in  my  house ;  I  do  not  know  how 
long  we  will  have  peace  in  the  world. 
It  seems  to  me  that  on  the  horizon  of 
politics  heavy  clouds  are  beginning  to 
tower  up;  let  us  therefore  take  care 
that  our  literary  horizon  is  clear  and 
peaceable." 

"  Ah,  sire  !  "  cried  Voltaire,  "  when 
you  look  at  me  with  your  great,  lumi- 
nous eyes,  I  feel  capable  of  plucking 
my  heart  from  my  breast  and  casting 
it  into  the  fire  for  you.  How  gladly, 
then,  will  I  offer  up  these  stinging  lines 
to  a  wish  of  my  Solomon  !  " 


"Will  you  indeed  sacrifice  'Aka- 
kia ?  ' "  said  the  king,  joyfully. 

"  Look  here  !  this  is  my  manuscript, 
you  know  my  handwriting,  you  see 
that  the  ink  is  scarcely  dry,  the  work 
just  completed.  Well,  then,  see  now, 
sire,  what  I  make  of  the  '  Akakia. ' " 
He  took  the  manuscript  and  cast  it  into 
the  fire  before  which  they  were  both 
sitting. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  cried  the 
king,  hastily;  and,  without  regarding 
the  flames,  he  stretched  out  his  hand  to 
seize  the  manuscript. 

Voltau-e  laughed  heartily,  seized  the 
tongs,  and  pushed  it  farther  into  the 
flames.  "  Sire,  sire,  I  am  the  devil, 
and  I  will  not  allow  my  victim  to  be 
torn  from  me.  My  '  Akakia  '  was  only 
worthy  of  the  lower  regions;  j'ou  con- 
demned it,  and  therefore  it  must  sufier. 
I,  the  devil,  command  it  to  burn." 

"  But  I,  the  angel  of  mercy,  will  re- 
deem the  poor  '  Akakia,'  "  cried  the 
king,  trying  to  obtain  possession  of  the 
tongs.  "  Truly,  this  '  Akakia  '  is  too 
lusty  and  witty  a  boy  to  be  laid,  like 
the  Emperor  Guatimozin,  upon  the 
gridiron.  It  was  enough  to  deny  him 
a  public  exhibition — it  was  not  neces- 
sary to  destroy  him." 

"  Sire,  I  am  a  poor,  weak  man  1  If  I 
kept  the  living 'Akakia' by  my  side, 
it  would  be  a  poisonous  weajDon,  which 
I  would  hurl  one  day  surely  at  the 
head  of  Maupertius.  It  is,  therefore, 
better  it  should  live  only  in  mj'  remem- 
brance, and  be  only  an  imaginary  dag- 
ger, with  which  I  will  sometimes  tickle 
the  haughty  lord-president." 

"  And  you  have  really  no  copy  ? "  in- 
quired the  king,  whose  distrust  was 
awakened  by  Voltaire's  too  ready  com- 
pliance. "Was  this  the  only  manu- 
script of  the  *  Akakia  ? '  " 

"  Sire,  if  you  do  not  believe  my  word, 
send  your  servants  and  let  them  search 
my  room.  Here  are  my  keys. ;  they  shall 
bring  you  every  scrap  of  written  paper ; 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


299 


your  majesty  will  then  be  convinced.  I 
entreat  you  to  do  this,  as  you  will  not 
believe  my  simple  word." 

The  king  fixed  his  eyes  steadfastly 
upon  Voltaire.  "  I  believe  you.  It 
would  be  unworthy  of  you  to  deceive 
me,  and.  unworthy  of  me  to  mistrust 
you.  I  believe  you;  but  I  will  make 
assurance  doubly  sure.  The'Akakia' 
is  no  longer  upon  paper,  but  it  is  in 
your  head,  and  I  fear  your  head  more 
than  I  do  all  the  paper  in  the  world. 
Promise  me,  Voltai^-e,  that  as  long  as 
you  live  with  me  you  will  engage  in  no 
written  strifes  or  controversies — that 
you  will  not  employ  your  bitter  irony 
against  the  government,  or  against  the 
authors." 

"  I  promise  that  cheerfully  I  " 
"  WDl  you  do  so  in  writing  ?  " 
Voltaire    stepped   to  the  table  and 
took  the   pen.      "  Will   your  majesty 
dictate  ? » 

The  king  dictated,  while  Voltaire 
wrote  with  a  rapid  but  firm  hand :  "  I 
promise  your  majesty  that  sa  long  as 
you  allow  me  to  lodge  in  your  castle,  I 
will  write  against  no  one,  neither 
against  the  French  government  nor 
any  of  the  foreign  ambassadors,  nor  the 
celebrated  authors.  I  will  constantly 
manifest  a  proper  respect  and  regard  to 
them.  I  will  make  no  improper  use  of 
the  letters  of  the  king.  I  will  in  all 
things  bear  myself  as  becomes  an  histo- 
rian and  a  scholar,  who  has  the  honor 
to  be  gentleman  in  waiting  to  the  King 
of  Prussia,  and  to  associate  with  dis- 
tinguished persons."  * 

"  Will  you  sign  this  ? "  said  the 
king. 

"I  will  not  only  sign  it,"  said  Vol- 
taire, "  but  I  will  add  something  to  its 
force.  Listen,  your  majesty. —  I  will 
strictly  obey  all  your  majesty's  com- 
mands, and  to  do  so  gives  me  no 
trouble.     I  entreat  your  majesty  to  be- 


♦  Preas,  "  Frleirich  der  Grosse." 


lieve  that  I  have  nevei  written  any 
thing  against  any  government — least 
of  all  against  that  under  which  I  was 
born,  and  which  I  only  left  because 
I  wished  to  close  my  life  at  the  feet 
of  your  majesty.  I  am  historian  of 
France.  In  the  discharge  of  this 
duty,  I  have  wi'itten  the  history  of 
Louis  the  Fourteenth,  and  the  cam- 
paigns of  Louis  the  Fifteenth.  My 
voice  and  my  pen  were  ever  consecrated 
to  my  fatherland,  as  they  are  now  sub- 
ject to  your  command.  I  entreat  you  to 
look  into  my  literary  contest  with  Mau- 
pertius,  and  to  believe  that  I  give  it  up 
cheerfully  to  please  you,  sire  ;  and  be- 
cause I  will  in  all  things  submit  to  your 
will.  I  wUl  also  be  obedient  to  yoiu: 
majesty  in  this.  I  will  enter  into  no 
literary  contest,  and  I  beg  you,  sire,  to 
believe  that,  in  the  hour  of  death,  I 
will  feel  the  same  reverence  and  at- 
tachment for  you  which  filled  my  heart 
the  day  I  first  appeared  at  your  court. 

"  VOLTAIBE." 

The  king  took  the  paper,  and  read 
it  over,  then  fixed  his  eyes  steadily 
upon  Voltaire's  lowering  face.  "  It  is 
well !  I  thank  you,"  said  Frederick, 
nodding  a  friendly  dismissal  to  Vol- 
taire. He  left  the  room,  and  the  king 
looked  after  him  long  and  thought- 
fully. 

"  I  do  not  trust  him ;  he  was  too 
ready  to  burn  the  manuscript.  He  is 
treacherous.  And  yet,  he  gave  me  his 
word  of  honor." 

Voltaire  returned  to  his  room,  and, 
now  alone  and  unobserved,  a  malicious, 
demoniac  exultation  was  written  on  hia 
face.  "  I  judged  rightly,"  said  he,  with 
a  grimace;  "the  king  wished  to  sacri- 
fice me  to  Maupertius.  I  think  this 
was  a  master-stroke.  I  have  truly 
burned  the  original  manuscript,  but  a 
copy  of  it  was  sent  to  Leyden  eight 
days  since.  While  the  king  thinks  I 
am.  such   a  good  humored  fool  as  to 


300 


BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;    OR, 


yield  the  contest  to  the  proud  beggar 
Maupertius,  my  '  Akakia '  will  be  pub- 
lished in  Leyden.  Soon  it  will  resound 
through  the  world,  and  show  how  ge- 
nius binds  puffed-up  folly,  which  calls 
itself  geniality,  to  the  pillory." 


CHAPTER  Xni. 

THE     LAST     STRUGGLE. 

It  was  Christmas  eve  !  The  streets 
were  white  with  snow ;  crowds  of 
people  were  rushing  through  the  castle 
square,  seeking  for  Christmas  trees, 
and  little  presents  for  tlieir  children. 
There  were,  however,  fewer  purchasers 
than  usual.  The  small  traders  stood 
idle  at  the  doors  of  the  booths,  and 
looked  discontentedly  at  the  swarms 
of  laughing  men,  who  passed  by  them, 
and  rushed  onward  to  the  Gens  d'Ar- 
men  Market. 

A  rare  spectacle,  exhibited  for  the 
first  time  during  the  reign  of  Freder- 
ick, was  to  be  seen  at  the  market  to- 
day. A  funeral  pyre  was  erected,  and 
the  executioner  stood  near  in  his  red 
livery.  What ! — shall  the  holy  evening 
be  solemnized  by  an  execution  ?  Was  it 
for  this  that  thousands  of  curious  men 
were  rushing  onward  to  the  scafiiold  ? 
that  groups  of  elegant  ladies  and  cava- 
liers were  crowded  to  the  open  win 
dows  ? 

Yes,  there  was  to  be  an  execution — a 
bloodless  one,  which  would  occasion 
no  bodily  suffering  to  the  delinquent. 
The  eyes  of  this  great  mass  of  people 
were  not  directed  to  the  scaffold,  but  to 
the  window  of  a  large  house  on  Tauben 
Street. 

At  this  open  window  stood  a  pale 
old  man,  with  hollow  cheeks,  and  bent, 
infirm  form  ;  but  you  saw  by  the  proud 
bearing  of  his  head,  and  his  ironical, 


contemptuous  smile,  that  his  spirit  was 
unconquered.  Ilis  whole  face  glowed 
with  flaming  scorn ;  and  his  great, 
fiery  eyes  flashed  amongst  the  crowd, 
greeting  here  and  there  an  acquaint- 
ance. 

This  man  was  Voltaire  —  Voltaire 
who  had  come  to  witness  the  execution 
of  his  "Akakia,"  which  had  been  pub- 
lished in  Leyden,  and  scattered  abroad 
throughout  Berlin.  Voltaire  had  bro- 
ken his  written  and  verbal  promise, 
his  word  of  honor ;  and  the  king,  ex- 
asperated to  the  utmost  by  this  dishon- 
orable conduct,  had  determined  to  pun- 
ish him  openljr.  And  now,  amidst  the 
breathless  silence  of  the  crowd,  a  func- 
tionary of  the  king  read  the  sentence — 
that  sentence  which  condemned  the 
"  Akakia,"  that  malicious  and  slander- 
ous i^ublication  holding  up  the  noble, 
virtuous,  and  renowned  scholar  Mau- 
pcrtius  to  the  general  mockery  of 
Paris. 

Voltaire  stood  calm  and  smiling  at 
the  open  window.  He  saw  the  exe- 
cutioner throw  great  piles  of  his  "Aka- 
kia "  into  the  fire.  He  saw  the  mad 
flames  whirling  up  into  the  heavens, 
and  his  countenance  was  clear,  and  his 
eyes  did  not  lose  their  lustre.  Higher 
and  higher  flashed  the  flames  I  broader 
and  blacker  the  pillars  of  smoke ;  but 
Voltaire  smiled  peacefully.  Conversa- 
tion and  laughter  were  silenced — the 
crowd  looked  on  breathlessly. 

Suddenly  a  loud  and  derisive  laugh 
was  heard,  and  a  powerful  voice  cried 
out :  "Look  at  the  spirit  of  Mauperti us, 
which  is  dissolving  into  smoke  !  Oh, 
the  thick,  black  smoke  I  How  much 
wood  consumed  in  vain  I  The  '  Aka- 
kia '  is  immortal — you  burn  him  here, 
but  he  still  lives,  and  the  whole  world 
will  know  and  appreciate  him.  That 
which  is  born  for  immortality  can  never 
be  burned."  * 


♦  Thldbault,  0.  266 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIEXDS. 


301 


S<)  said  Voltaire,  aa  he  dashed  the 
window  down,  and  stepped  back  in 
the  room. 

"Farewell,  Herr  von  Francheville," 
said  he,  quietly.  "  I  thank  you  for 
having  allowed  me  to  be  present  at  my 
execution.  You  see  I  have  borne  it 
well;  all  do  not  die  who  are  burnt. 
Farewell,  I  must  go  to  the  castle.  I 
have  important  business  there." 

With  youthful  agility  he  entered  his 
carriage.  The  people,  who  recog- 
nized him,  shouted  after  him  joyfully. 
He  passed  through  the  crowd  with  an 
air  of  triumph,  and  they  greeted  him 
with  kindly  interest. 

The  smile  disappeared  from  his  face 
when  he  entered  his  room  at  the  castle, 
and  the  scorn  and  tumult  of  his  heart 
were  plainly  written  on  his  countenance. 
He  seized  his  portfolio^  and  drew  from 
it  the  pension  patent  signed  by  the 
king ;  tore  from  his  neck  the  blue  rib- 
bon, with  the  great  badge  surrounded 
with  brilliants,  and  cut  the  little  gold 
key  from  his  court  dress,  which  his 
valet  had  laid  out  ready  for  his  toilet. 
Of  these  things  he  made  a  little  packet, 
which  he  sealed  up,  and  wrote  upon  it 
these  lines 

"*  Je  les  rep ns  avcc  tendresse, 
Je  vons  les  rends  avec  douleur ; 
C'est  ainsi  qu'un  amant,  dans  son  extreme  foreur, 
Bend  le  portrait  de  sa  maltresse." 

He  called  his  servant  and  com- 
manded him  to  take  this  packet  to  the 
king. 

Voltaire  did  not  hesitate  a  moment. 
He  felt  not  the  least  regret  for  the 
great  pension  which  he  was  relinquish- 
ing. He  felt  that  there  was  no  other 
course  open  to  him ;  that  his  honor 
and  his  pride  demanded  it.  At  this 
moment,  his  expression  was  noble.  He 
was  the  proud,  independent,  free  man. 
The  might  of  genius  reigned  supreme, 
and  subdued  the  calculating  and  the 
pitiful  for  a  brief  space.     This  exalted 


moment  soon  passed  away,  and  the 
cunning,  miserly,  calculating  ohl  man 
again  asserted  his  rights.  Voltaire  re- 
membered that  he  had  not  only  given 
up  orders  and  titles,  but  gold,  and  meas- 
ureless anguish  and  raging  pain  took 
possession  of  him.  He  hastened  to  his 
writing-desk,  and,  with  a  trembling 
hand,  he  wrote  a  pleading  letter  to 
the  king,  in  which  he  begged  for 
pardon  and  grace — for  pity  in  his  un- 
happy circumstances  and  his  great 
sorrow. 

The  king  was  merciful.  He  took 
pity  on  the  old  friendship  which  lay 
in  ruins  at  his  feet.  He  felt  for  it  that 
sort  of  reverence  which  a  man  enter- 
tains for  the  grave  of  a  lost  friend.  He 
returned  the  "  bagatelles  "  with  a  few 
friendly  lines  to  Voltaire,  and  invited 
him  to  accompany  him  to  Potsdam. 
Voltaire  accepted  the  invitation,  and 
the  journals  announced  that  the  cele- 
brated French  writer  had  again  re- 
ceived his  orders,  titles,  and  pen- 
sion, and  gone  to  Potsdam  with  the 
king. 

But  this  seemmg  peace  was  of  short 
duration.  Friendship  was  dead,  and 
anger  and  bitterness  had  taken  the 
place  of  consideration  and  love.  Vol- 
taire felt  the  impossibility  of  remaining 
longer.  Impelled  by  the  cold  glance, 
the  ironical  and  contemptuous  laughter 
of  the  king,  he  begged  at  last  for  his 
dismissal,  which  the  king  did  not  re- 
fuse him. 

One  day,  when  Frederick  was  upon 
the  parade-ground,  surrounded  by  his 
generals,  he  was  told  that  Voltaire 
asked  permission  to  be  allowed  to  take 
leave. 

The  king  turned  quietly  toward  him, 
and  observed  without  visible  emotion, 
"Ah,  Monsieur  Voltaire,  you  are  re- 
solved then  to  leave  us  ?  " 

"  Sire,  indispensable  business  and  my 
state  of  health  compel  me  to  do  so,' 
said  Voltaire. 


302 


BERLIN   AND    SANS-SOUC. 


The  king  bowed  slightly.  "Mon- 
sieur, I  wish  you  a  happy  journey."  * 
Then  turning  to  the  old  Field-Marshal 
Ziethen,  he  recominenced  his  conversa- 
tiou  with  him.    Voltaire  made  a  pro- 

*  Thi6bault,  p.  271. 


found  bow,  and  entered  the  post-chaise 
which  was  waiting  for  him. 

So  they  parted,  and.  their  fiiendsbip 
was  in  ashes ;  and  no  after-protesta- 
tions could  bring  it  to  life.  The  great 
king  and  the  great  poet  parted,  nevex 
to  meet  again. 


TH  E    END. 


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